TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


J.W.  Hayes 


k 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


*<*•• 


m 


TALES  OF   THE 
SIERRAS 


By  J.  W.  HAYES 

With  Illustrations  by  John  L.  C as  sidy 


(Ctutfon 


PUBLISHERS 
W.  H.  C.  CO.,  N.  Y. 

1912 


LIBRAK  i 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


TALES  OF   THE 
SIERRAS 


By  J.  W.  HAYES 

With  Illustrations  by  John  L.  C as  sidy 


dilution 


PUBLISHERS 
W.  H.  C.  CO.,  N.  Y. 

1912 


LIBRAK  i 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


COPYRIGHTED  1905 


All  rights  reserved 


c.l 


^Dedication 

TO  MY  BELOVED  LITTLE  SON 

BENJAMIN  LADD 

WHOSE  ADVENT   INTO  THIS   WORLD   HAS 

BROUGHT  ADDED   HAPPINESS 

AND  COMFORT  TO  ME 

THIS  BOOK 
IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Throckmortons 17 

Sun  Lee's  Courtship 23 

The  Hermit  of  Telegraph  Hill 27 

Carrying  the  War  Into  China 35 

Whisky  Flat 39 

Lost  Opportunities 55 

"Pass  Me  Not" 59 

Welcoming  the  President 63 

"What's  'Atin'  You?" 69 

Pioneer  and  Modern  Telegraphy 73 

Billy  McGinniss'  Wake 81 

A  Messenger  Boy's  Trip  to  London     ....  85 

A  Piute  Detective 89 

Across  the  Sierras 95 

Digging  Wells  by  Telephone 99 

Enterprise  in   Emergency 103 

Some  Reminiscences 107 

A  Modern  Don  Quixote in 

Oysters   Cause  Wire  Trouble 115 

The  Carson  Canning  Company 117 

Bran   Again 121 

Colonel  Dickey's  Paper  Weight 123 

The  Cowboy  Dispatcher 131 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Frontispiece 

Page 

A  Reckonin'  Party 16 

Ezra,  a  Dude 22 

The  Countess 22 

Telegraph  Laundry 25 

Around  the  Camp  Fire 27 

Jim  Murphy's  Last  Resting  Place     ....  33 

Ah  Suey  and  His  Outfit      . 35 

Chinese  Bulletin  Board 37 

Bodie,  California opposite  39 

Edith  Wythe 39 

Rencontre  With  Indians 45 

Desolation 53 

"Pass  Me   Not" 59 

The  President's  Reception  at  Virginia  City  .      .  66 

A  Well  Qualified  Superintendent 78 

Touching  the  Wire  to  Yakima 82 

Remnants  of  the  Wake          83 

Mahala  at  the  Bar 92 

Jimmy  in  Need  of  a  Shave 108 

A  Modern  Don  Quixote HI 

Teddy,  The  Terror HI 

The  Biggest  Injun  in  Omaha 113 

Sim  in  the  Wilds  of  Omaha 113 

The  Tipperary  Custom  Mill 121 

Proceeding  to  Business 126 

A  Penitentiary  Offense  in  Salt  Lake    ....  128 

Chasing  the  San  Francisco  Train 133 

Gus  Apologizes 135 


PREFACE 

The  opportunity  has  at  length  offered  itself  for  me 
to  comply  with  an  oft-repeated  request ;  namely,  to  col 
lect  my  stories  published  in  various  periodicals,  and 
add  to  them  many  of  later  date  which  have  never 
before  appeared  in  print. 

In  presenting  "TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS"  to 
the  public,  I  do  so  in  the  belief  that  it  will  find  general 
favor  with  its  readers.  I  do  not  hope  to  "fill  a  long- 
felt  want,"  but  I  do  anticipate  filling  a  niche  all  my 
own.  I  have  not  followed  any  well-trodden  path  in 
my  style  of  literature,  but  have  rather  sought  to  be 
entirely  original. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  think  that  my  characters 
are  too  highly  drawn,  but  I  wish  to  assure  them  that 
such  is  not  the  case.  The  stories  are  founded  on  facts, 
with  just  enough  of  an  elasticity  of  the  truth  to  render 
them  interesting  and  entertaining.  There  really  existed 
an  "Ezra  Throckmorton,"  as  I  have  described  him,  and 
the  character  of  Melissa,  the  Countess,  is  a  faithful 
portrayal  of  his  sister.  Visitors  to  Mount  Dana,  in 
the  high  Sierras,  will  have  pointed  out  to  them  the 
monument  of  Jim  Murphy,  the  "Hermit  of  Telegraph 
Hill,"  by  the  simple  sheepherder.  This  mausoleum, 
the  grandest  in  the  world,  with  its  crude  and  weather- 
beaten  inscription,  defies  the  ravages  of  time,  and  will 
stand  for  ages.  Many  may  read  the  story  of  little  Edith 
Wythe  and  drop  a  tear  for  her  untimely  demise,  mar 
veling  at  the  same  time  over  the  dauntless  courage  of 
her  brother  Dexter. 

No  irreverence  is  intended  to  the  memory  of  Presi 
dent  William  Orton  in  my  sketch  of  "Welcoming  the 


14 


TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


President."  I  merely  wish  to  illustrate  the  freedom 
which  life  in  the  Far  West  engenders  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people  here. 

I  will  be  much  pleased  if  the  perusal  of  this  book 
assists  its  readers  in  gleaning  the  lesson  of  looking  at 
the  happy  side  of  life  at  all  times,  and  thus  making  a 
truism  of  the  lines: 

"Laugh,  and  the  world  laughs  with  you, 

Weep  and  you  weep  alone; 
For  the  sad  old  earth  must  borrow  its  mirth, 

It  has  trouble  enough  of  its  own." 

THE  AUTHOR. 


THE  THROCKMORTONS 

IT  was  a  proud  day  in  the  life  of  young  Jack 
Hamlin  when  the  superintendent  at  Louisville 
promoted  him  from  messenger  to  a  position  as 
night  operator  at  Mountain  Top.  There  was  little 
expected  of  a  night  operator  at  this  point,  but  as  the 
northbound  express  passed  the  southbound  flyer  at 
this  place  it  was  deemed  necessary  to  maintain  an 
office.  It  was  an  uninviting  scene  that  met  Jack's 
gaze  on  his  arrival  at  Mountain  Top.  The  little  shack 
of  a  depot  was  in  the  midst  of  a  small  clearing,  and 
was  dirt-begrimed  and  inhospitable-looking.  There 
were  no  other  houses  visible,  but  to  the  east  of  the 
station  was  a  little  clearing  from  which  a  tiny  volume 
of  smoke  curled  up  to  the  tops  of  the  pine  trees,  where 
the  wind  took  it  up,  speedily  melting  it  from  view. 

Jack's  attention  was  attracted  to  a  motley  crowd  of 
"natives,"  who  looked  askance  at  him  when  he  jumped 
off  the  train;  but  it  was  not  till  the  morrow  that  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  simple  peasantry  of  the 
place. 

The  southbound  Gulf  express  is  due  at  Mountain 
Top  at  6  P.  M.  Half  an  hour  before  this  time,  our 
observer,  as  he  stood  at  the  station  looking  eastward, 
saw  a  singular  sight.  A  number  of  curiously  clad 
"natives"  were  coming  over  to  the  station.  They  were 
walking  single  file,  and  their  shambling  gait  was  as 
grotesque-looking  as  were  the  garments  that  covered 
them.  They  were  evidently  members  of  the  same 
family,  judging  by  the  step-ladder-like  regularity  of 
the  sizes  of  the  children.  The  father  of  the  family  had 
his  trousers  hitched  up  with  one  piece  of  a  gallus,  the 
other  half  of  which  seemed  to  have  been  handed  down 
to  his  oldest  hopeful.  A  chip  hat,  minus  crown,  partly 

2  17 


18  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

hid  the  fiery-red  hair  of  the  elder  Throckmorton.  A 
hickory  shirt  and  blue  jeans,  with  the  aforesaid  solitary 
suspender,  completed  the  raiment  of  the  aristocrat  of 
Mountain  Top.  His  wife,  who  followed  half  a  dozen 
feet  in  the  wake  of  her  liege  lord,  was  encased  (that  is 
the  word)  in  a  gown  made  of  burlap,  negligently  tied 
at  the  waist  with  a  piece  of  bale  rope.  Like  her  hus 
band,  she  scouted  any  affectation  of  foot-gear.  Behind 
her  came  Miss  Melissa,  red-haired  and  freckled-faced ; 
shoeless,  and  with  dress  of  the  same  piece  of  material 
that  her  mother  wore.  Then  came  young  Ezra.  He 
was  the  counterpart  of  the  elder  Throckmorton,  minus 
the  hat  and  whiskers.  Next  came  the  youngest 
Throckmorton,  a  wee  youngster  of  4  years,  bearing 
the  unmistakable  form  and  features  of  the  parent 
branch.  Silently  each  walked  on,  and,  arriving  at  the 
station,  each  member  of  the  family  took  up  his  position 
on  the  company's  fence,  all  in  a  row,  like  so  many 
blackbirds;  but  with  never  a  word.  A  few  minutes 
later,  a  little  further  to  the  south,  approaching  the 
station  over  a  winding  trail,  could  be  seen  another 
family,  almost  identical  in  number  and  appearance 
with  that  of  the  Throckmortons.  These  were  the 
Browns.  They  were  not  considered  as  good  as  the 
Throckmortons,  for  Miss  Melissa  had  once  been  to 
Cincinnati  to  visit  an  uncle,  and  had  returned  with 
some  "store  clothes"  and  a  real  milliner-made  hat, 
none  of  which  she  had  ever  since  donned.  This  may 
seem  to  be  a  small  thing  for  a  family  like  the  Throck 
mortons  to  put  on  airs  about,  but  the  Browns,  after 
seeing  and  feeling  the  fine  clothes  of  Miss  Melissa, 
readily  granted  the  palm  of  superiority  to  their 
neighbors. 

The  Browns  sidled  up  to  the  vacant  portion  of  the 
fence,  each  member  of  the  family  taking  what  appeared 
to  be  an  accustomed  seat.  The  heads  of  each  family 


THE  THROCKMORTONS  19 

now  made  a  dive  into  their  pockets,  bringing  forth  a 
black-looking  plug  of  tobacco.  Biting  off  a  piece,  it 
was  passed  to  the  mother,  from  her  to  the  daughter, 
then  on  down  to  the  wee  little  one,  all  of  whom  took 
a  chew,  returning  the  remainder  of  the  piece  to  the 
respective  heads,  who  now  for  the  first  time  seemed  to 
recognize  the  presence  of  the  other. 

"I  reckon  the  train  do  be  late  tonight/'  remarked 
Throckmorton. 

"I  reckon,"  sententiously  replied  Brown. 

The  members  of  both  families  "reckoned"  clear 
down  to  the  small  boy. 

There  was  a  hole  in  the  platform,  half  a  foot  in 
diameter,  and  all  of  the  Browns  and  Throckmortons 
started  a  fusillade  of  tobacco  juice  at  the  unoffending 
spot,  and  it  was  remarkable  to  see  with  what  precision 
each  and  all  struck  the  hole.  Miss  Melissa  seemed  to 
be  the  most  expert,  and  smiled  a  little  loftily  at 
Amanda  Brown,  who  looked  somewhat  abashed. 

"I  reckon  it  won't  rain  tomorrow,"  ventured  Brown. 

"I  reckon,"  patronizingly  said  Throckmorton;  and 
there  was  the  usual  "reckonin' "  all  down  the  line 
again. 

This  desultory  conversation  was  kept  up  until  the 
train  arrived  and  departed.  There  were  no  passengers 
for  Mountain  Top;  there  seldom  were.  The  United 
States  mail  pouch  was  thrown  off  to  the  agent,  and 
after  the  departure  of  the  train  the  Browns  and  the 
Throckmortons  filed  up  to  the  window  to  ask  for  mail. 
Each  member  of  the  two  families  would  ask  in  turn 
for  a  letter,  and,  after  receiving  the  customary  "Noth 
ing  for  you,"  from  the  agent  and  postmaster,  would 
sadly  shake  his  head  and  fall  into  Indian  file.  The 
retreat  to  the  home  was  in  the  same  order  as  they  had 
arrived. 


20  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

"These  people  have  been  doing  precisely  the  same 
as  this  every  day  since  I  have  been  here,  and  that  is 
seven  years,"  said  the  agent  to  Jack.  "They  never 
have  missed  a  day,  and  their  salutation  is  the  same 
now  as  it  was  when  I  first  came  here.  They  never 
get  a  letter,  but  it  would  be  a  matter  of  a  'feud'  to  the 
death  if  I  deviated  the  least  bit  out  of  my  customary 
way  of  replying  to  their  questions." 

Jack  Hamlin  was  indeed  glad  when  he  was  relieved 
from  duty  as  night  operator  at  Mountain  Top.  Lazi 
ness  and  shiftlessness  seemed  to  be  the  pervading  and 
besetting  sin  of  the  Throckmortons  and  Browns ;  and 
it  did  not  look  as  if  either  family  would  ever  rise  above 
its  present  surroundings. 


Years  had  passed  since  Jack  Hamlin  was  night 
operator  at  Mountain  Top.  The  episode  had  almost 
entirely  been  effaced  from  his  memory.  He  had  fol 
lowed  the  telegraph  business  at  various  times,  but 
had  never  confined  himself  wholly  to  it.  Still,  the  dots 
and  dashes  had  a  great  attraction  for  him,  and  he  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  mingling  with  the  craft  when 
he  could  do  so.  It  was  therefore  a  day  to  be  long 
remembered  when  he  learned  that  a  number  of  his 
boyhood  friends,  who  had  been  attending  an  annual 
convention  of  the  "old-timers"  at  Omaha,  were  en 
route  to  the  Pacific  Coast.  He  speedily  joined  them 
at  the  Hotel  del  Monte,  Monterey,  Cal.,  the  paradise 
of  America,  where  they  were  the  guests  of  General 
John  I.  Sabin,  of  San  Francisco.  Joyous  greetings 
and  a  general  good  time  ensued. 

The  friends  were  sitting  on  the  veranda  of  the 
beautiful  hotel  one  evening,  listening  to  the  strains  of 


THE  THROCKMORTONS  21 

music  from  a  string  band  in  the  banquet  hall,  when  a 
peculiar  voice  attracted  Jack's  attention. 

"Aw,  it's  so  deucedly  awkward  to  travel  without 
one's  valet,  doncher  know,"  Jack  heard,  and,  looking 
up,  saw  a  tall  form  and  two  foppishly  dressed  men  of 
middle  age. 

One  of  the  strangers  had  very  red  hair,  and  a 
countenance  that  Jack  thought  he  had  seen  before,  but 
he  could  not  place  it.  He  felt  sure  he  had  met  this 
man  somewhere  in  the  past,  but  the  environments 
were  vastly  different.  Going  over  to  the  hotel  register, 
he  saw  scrawled  the  name  "Ezra  Throckmorton, 
London,  England."  It  all  came  back  to  him  in  an 
instant,  and  he  recognized  at  once  in  the  modern  dude, 
who  thought  it  "awkward  to  be  without  his  valet,"  the 
long-ago  Ezra  Throckmorton  of  Mountain  Top,  who 
complacently  used  to  wear  the  "off  side"  of  his  father's 
galluses,  and  who  was  always  ready  to  join  in  the 
chorus  at  all  of  the  "reckonin' "  parties. 

What  a  change  had  taken  place!  Hamlin  did  not 
hesitate  to  introduce  himself  and  inquire  after  "Miss 
Melissa"  and  the  Brown  family. 

"Melissa!  Why,  she  married  a  Count,"  said  Ezra, 
who  was  really  glad  to  see  Jack  again.  "She  will  be 
here  today,  but  she  will  hardly  thank  you  to  refer  to 
her  youthful  days.  You  see,  we  Throckmorton s  were 
always  aristocrats,  even  when  you  knew  us.  The 
Browns  knew  it,  too.  One  day  the  train  stopped  at 
Mountain  Top  and  we  were  all  there  as  usual.  For  a 
wonder,  there  was  a  passenger.  It  was  a  man  from 
Pittsburgh,  and  he  wanted  to  see  father.  It  appears 
that  he  had  learned  of  a  coal  deposit  being  on  our  land, 
and  had  come  to  purchase  it.  A  fabulous  sum  was 
offered,  but  pa  was  true  to  his  superior  breeding  and 


22 


TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


demanded  twice  the  amount  offered,  which  was  finally 
paid;  and  in  the  short  space  of  one  month  we  had 
parted  with  our  mountain  home,  and  were  living  in 
Louisville.     Pa  and  ma  could  not  stand  prosperity, 
and  both  died  a  year  afterward.     Ma  always  wanted 
to  go  back  to  her  old  home,  sit  on 
the  fence,  wait  for  the  train,  and 
ask  for  the  mail  ;  and  pa  was  just 
the  same  —  But  here  is  Melissa  ! 
She  is  now  Countess  Agonzal." 

It  is  an  unmistakable  fact  that 
"fine  feathers  make  fine  birds," 
and  it  would  be  impossible  to 
recognize  in  the  finely  dressed 
Countess  of  today  the  little, 
barefooted,  tobacco-c  hewing 
Melissa  of  years  ago.  And,  just 
think  !  it  was  only  a  mineral  de 
posit  that  created  this  metamor 
phosis.  A  pleasant  evening  was 
spent;  and  on  his  way  to  his 
Northern  home  Jack  could  not 
help  thinking  that  "Truth  is 
stranger  than  fiction." 


SUN  LEE  was  the  telegraph  messenger  at  Bodie, 
Cal.,  when  that  mining  camp  was  at  the  height 
of  its  prosperity.  There  were  no  boys  in  this 
camp  who  would  take  the  position,  and  Sun  Lee  was 
engaged  at  a  salary  of  $50  per  month  and  perquisites, 
the  latter  consisting  of  the  "digs,"  which  amounted 
to  from  $2  and  $3  a  day,  which  was  thought  to  be  a 
fair  salary  for  a  messenger. 

It  has  been  stated  that  our  Mongolian  brethren 
cannot  learn  the  art  of  telegraphy,  but  this  is  not  so. 
Sun  Lee  had  been  in  the  office  but  a  short  time  when 
he  mastered  the  alphabet,  and  night  after  night,  when 
the  line  was  idle,  he  would  spend  many  hours  in  prac 
ticing,  and  soon  he  became  proficient  enough  to  notify 
the  office  at  Virginia  City  that  the  Bodie  operator 
"has  went  out."  Of  course  Sun  Lee  was  the  admira 
tion  of  Chinatown,  and  it  was  his  great  delight  to  be 
seen  by  his  countrymen  sitting  at  the  operating  table 
handling  the  key  when  they  came  in  to  send  a 
message. 

Nestling  almost  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  Sierras 
is  the  village  of  Genoa,  and  here  Miss  Minnie  Lee 
presided  as  operator.  She  was  of  a  highly  romantic 
temperament,  and  the  peculiar  style  of  literature  that 
she  constantly  perused  kept  her  imagination  inflamed, 
so  she  was  always  ready  for  anything  daring  or  dash 
ing  if  it  appealed  to  the  romantic  or  sentimental  side  of 

23 


24  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

her  nature.  She  began  to  learn  to  telegraph  about  the 
time  that  Sun  Lee  was  taking  his  first  instruction, 
and  the  twain  became  speedily  well  acquainted  over 
the  wire.  The  Celestial,  too,  had  a  poetic  side  to  his 
nature,  and  he  and  Minnie  soon  became  firm  friends. 
As  time  went  on,  the  students  became  more  and  more 
interested  in  each  other,  but  the  wily  heathen  had 
never  disclosed  the  fact  that  he  was  "foreign"  born. 
He  used  to  say,  "My  name  is  'S.  Lee'  and  yours  is  'M. 
Lee.' "  Of  course,  it  was  an  easy  matter  for  Sun  Lee 
to  keep  his  identity  a  secret,  as  the  distance  from 
Bodie  to  Genoa  was  over  a  hundred  miles,  the  worst 
mountain  stage  road  in  the  country,  and  there  was  no 
one  at  either  of  the  towns  sufficiently  interested  in 
the  matter  to  disclose  the  true  status  of  affairs  to 
Miss  Lee. 

One  evening  Minnie  read  in  the  columns  of  The 
Telegraph  Age  an  account  of  a  "marriage  by  wire," 
and  straightway  called  up  Bodie  and  sent  the  item  to 
Sun  Lee,  who  remarked,  "Why  can't  you  and  I  do 
likewise?"  The  young  woman  thought  it  would  be  so 
romantic,  so  she  readily  acquiesced,  and  Sun  started 
on  the  preliminaries,  engaging  an  itinerant  preacher 
to  tie  the  knot  at  the  Bodie  end  of  the  line,  while  a 
qualified  minister  was  to  perform  the  same  office  for 
the  young  woman  at  Genoa. 

Sun  Lee  acted  as  operator,  and  the  affair  went  off 
smoothly.  Of  course  he  did  not  kiss  the  bride  or  enjoy 
a  wedding  dinner,  but  repaired  to  his  customary 
haunts  in  Chinatown  on  the  night  of  his  marriage. 

The  officiating  preacher  at  the  Bodie  end  gave  the 
particulars  of  the  case  to  a  Free  Press  reporter,  and  the 
following  morning  the  whole  story  was  told  in  print, 
and  being  put  on  the  wires,  speedily  became  circulated 


SUN  LEE'S  COURTSHIP 


25 


all  over  the  Coast.  Miss  Minnie  Lee  (now  Mrs.  Sun 
Lee)  had  a  big  brother,  who  swore  dire  vengeance  on 
his  Oriental  brother-in-law.  The  irate  young  man 
started  for  Bodie  armed  to  the  teeth.  Sun  Lee  became 
apprised  of  this  fact, 
and  immediately  de 
camped  for  parts  un 
known.  It  was  discov 
ered  afterwards  that 
there  was  some  techni 
cality  about  the  cere 
mony  which  rendered 
it  null  and  void,  so  Miss  Lee  re 
sumed  her  maiden  name,  and  it 
is  quite  certain  that  she  was  for 
ever  cured  of  her  romantic  folly. 

Nothing  was  ever 
heard  of  Sun  Lee  after 
this  in  telegraph  circles. 
The  files  of  the  San 
Francisco  office  fail  to 
show  that  he  ever  ap 
plied  for  a  position,  butliiiji'l 
there  is  a  suspicious- 
looking  sign  in  China 
town  in  that  city  which 
bears  the  following  legend,  that  might  perhaps  throw 
some  light  on  his  whereabouts  and  present  business 
pursuits : 


"TELEGRAPH  LAUNDRY." 
Washing  and  Ironing  Done  with  Prompt 
ness  and  Despatch. 

SUN  LEE,  Manager. 


IT  was  a  November  evening  in  the  year  186 — .  The 
scene  was  in  the  beautiful  Antelope  Valley  of 
Esmeralda  county,  Nevada.  The  weather  was  a 
trifle  chilly,  just  enough  to  make  a  campfire  comfort 
able.  Supper  was  over  and  pipes  were  drawn  out,  and 
the  group  of  telegraph-line  builders  gathered  around 
the  campfire  to  while  away  an  hour  or  two  before 
turning  in.  This  "turning  in"  process  was  generally 
very  simple,  and  consisted  merely  of  rolling  up  one's 
self  in  a  blanket,  and  with  a  pine  stump  or  tuft  of  grass 
for  a  pillow  and  the  starry  canopy  of  the  beautiful 
Nevada  sky  for  a  coverlid.  The  wearied  climber 
would  then  enjoy  a  repose  not  to  be  found  in  kingly 
palaces.  These  two  or  three  hours  around  the  camp- 
fire  were  the  most  enjoyable  of  the  day,  and  were 
spent  in  spinning  yarns,  with  occasional  songs  from 
those  so  gifted. 

On  this  particular  evening  it  was  suggested  that 
each  of  the  motley  crowd  should  relate  some  of  his 
early  experiences,  and  tell  how  it  came  to  pass  that 
he  was  so  far  away  from  home.  The  stories  told  were 
varied,  interesting  and  thrilling,  and  all  had  a  more 

27 


28  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

or  less  humorous  side  to  them.  One  severe-looking 
man  stated  that  he  had  been  cashier  in  a  great  Eastern 
institution,  but  in  an  unfortunate  hour  he  used  some 
of  the  company's  funds  to  speculate  with,  and  the 
venture  proving  unsuccessful,  he  was  obliged  to 
decamp. 

A  mild-looking  young  man  then  told  how,  in  a  fit 
of  anger,  he  had  seriously  wounded  a  fellow  workman 
and  fled  to  escape  the  penalty. 

A  ministerial-appearing  old  man  was  then  pressed 
to  tell  his  story.  He  protested  that  his  tale  was  so 
uninteresting  that  it  was  not  worth  relating,  but  on 
further  solicitation  he  stated  that  he  had  left  his  home 
in  Vermont  because  he  had  not  built  a  church.  This 
statement  elicited  much  merriment,  but  the  story-teller 
went  on  to  explain  as  follows :  "You  see,  boys,  I  was 
once  a  preacher  back  in  Vermont.  My  congregation 
gave  me  $5000  to  build  a  church  with.  I  didn't  do  it ; 
I  came  to  California  instead." 

Jim  Murphy  was  the  next  speaker.  He  said  that 
he  had  been  for  many  years  an  operator  and  lineman 

at  M ,  on  the  Ohio  river.  He  had  been  addicted  to 

the  liquor  habit,  and  he  had  come  West  simply  to 
break  away  from  old  associations  and  boon  com 
panions,  and  the  presence  of  the  fiery  liquor.  His 
story  was  a  simple  one,  and  it  indicated  that  Jim  was 
in  earnest,  and  that  he  was  endeavoring  to  escape  from 
the  evils  of  intemperance  by  avoiding  temptation.  He 
was  considerably  jeered  at  by  the  rest  of  the  "gang," 
who  told  him  that  if  he  was  seeking  to  live  a  sober  life 
he  had  come  to  a  poor  place.  They  recounted  how 
the  wine  flowed  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains, 
and  prophesied  Jim's  early  fall  from  his  good  inten 
tions.  Jim  looked  firm  and  determined,  and  the 


THE  HERMIT  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL  29 

following  day  he  asked  for  his  "time,"  stating  that  he 
was  going  for  a  long  hunt. 

Jim  Murphy  was  a  man  50  years  of  age.  He  was 
very  tall,  with  a  strong,  well-knit  frame,  and  his 
powers  of  physical  endurance  were  remarkable.  Jim's 
adieu  to  his  comrades  was  very  brief,  and  with  his 
blanket  over  his  back,  his  cartridge  belt  buckled  around 
his  waist  and  his  trusty  rifle  over  his  shoulder,  he 
started  up  the  mountains  and  was  soon  lost  to  view  in 
the  chaparral.  Time  passed,  but  Jim  did  not  return. 
He  was  known  as  a  sturdy  hunter  and  familiar  with 
all  the  phases  of  woodcraft,  so  his  disappearance 
caused  no  alarm,  or  even  ordinary  comment.  Mean 
while  the  line  to  Antelope  Valley  was  completed,  and 
the  erstwhile  preacher,  the  whilom  cashier  and  the 
quondam  linemen  were  discharged  and  speedily  en 
gaged  in  other  business.  But  Jim  Murphy — what  be 
came  of  him? 

****** 

About  twenty  years  later  a  Portuguese  sheep- 
herder,  Pietro  Sanchez  by  name,  encamped  one  night 
with  his  flock  in  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the  high 
Sierras,  near  the  headwaters  of  the  Tuolumne  river. 
Pietro  was  a  simple  fellow,  well  content  with  his  lot, 
and,  unlike  the  majority  of  Calif ornians,  he  was  not  a 
goldseeker.  The  French  have  a  proverb  which  says 
that  "only  the  unexpected  happens,"  and  curiously 
enough,  it  was  by  rare  accident  that  Pietro  discovered 
very  rich  dirt  near  his  camp.  This  news  he  conveyed 
to  his  friend  and  neighbor,  a  silver-haired  old  man, 
who  had  been  his  friend  for  many  years.  This  old  man 
was  Jim  Murphy,  now  familiarly  known  to  the  few 
mountaineers  and  prospectors  as  "Father"  Murphy. 


30  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

Although  more  than  three  score  and  ten,  he  was  still 
keen  of  eye,  firm  of  foot  and  strong  of  limb.  He  had 
come  to  this  wild  and  almost  inaccessible  spot  after 
he  left  the  telegraph  service,  and  since  that  time  he 
had  not  sought  for  or  mixed  with  any  so-called  civil 
ization.  He  passed  his  first  winter  in  the  mountains 
in  one  of  the  numerous  caves,  and  the  following  spring 
he  erected  a  log  hut.  This  habitation  was  built  on 
the  banks  of  Lake  Tenaya,  a  beautiful  mountain  lake 
situated  at  the  base  of  Mount  Dana,  one  of  the  Sierras' 
loftiest  and  most  rugged  peaks. 

About  seven  years  after  Jim  established  himself 
at  Lake  Tenaya,  Pietro  Sanchez  came  into  the  neigh 
borhood,  and  the  two  men,  diametrically  opposite  in 
disposition,  soon  became  very  warm  friends. 

Jim  still  had  a  love  for  the  "dots  and  dashes,"  and 
he  constructed  a  line  between  his  cabin  and  the  Portu 
guese's  shack,  and  undertook  the  task  of  teaching  the 
sheepherder  the  mysteries  of  the  Morse  alphabet.  It 
was  a  harder  task  than  he  had  bargained  for,  and  after 
six  months  of  patient  teaching  the  idea  was  given  up 
and  a  code  of  interchangeable  signals  was  arranged. 

"Father"  Murphy  was  proverbial  for  his  kindness 
and  hospitality.  He  lived  alone  with  his  dogs,  had  a 
few  sheep  and  cows;  his  raiment  was  entirely  of  his 
own  manufacture,  and  would  today  be  more  expensive 
than  the  finest  broadcloth.  Hunting  and  fishing  par 
ties  would  come  up  frequently  from  the  Yosemite 
Valley  to  spend  a  few  days  during  the  summer  at  Lake 
Tenaya.  "Father"  Murphy's  first  request  was  that 
during  their  sojourn  at  his  abode  no  liquor  should  be 
indulged  in,  and  so  well  was  this  fact  known,  and  so 
much  was  he  held  in  reverence,  that  his  request  was 
always  complied  with  good-naturedly. 


THE  HERMIT  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL  31 

And  so  it  happened  that  when  Pietro  Sanchez  told 
him  of  his  discovery  of  gold,  so  close  by,  and  on  his 
property,  "Father"  Murphy  soliloquized  thus:  "Gold! 
gold!  the  root  of  all  evil.  Why  should  we  let  it  be 
known?  Better  far  to  live  our  lives  in  the  present 
peaceful  way  than  place  ourselves  in  the  way  of  temp 
tation.  Come,  Pietro,  let  us  say  nothing  about  this 
find."  Pietro  promised  to  keep  silent,  but  in  some 
unknown  way  the  secret  was  discovered,  and  two 
weeks  later  there  was  a  rush  to  the  new  "diggings." 
A  town  sprang  up  as  though  by  magic,  and  the  once 
peaceful  and  quiet  region  of  Mount  Dana  was  broken 
by  the  noise  and  clamor  of  civilization. 

"Father"  Murphy  was  sorely  grieved,  and  his  sense 
of  propriety  was  greatly  shocked,  when  he  learned  that 
whisky  was  the  chief  article  of  commerce  at  the  new 
mining  camp.  He  wanted  to  leave  the  haven  of  rest 
where  he  had  been  supremely  happy  for  so  long  a  time, 
and  again  seek  another  refuge,  but  where  to  go  he  did 
not  know. 

The  tempter  came  one  day  and  "Father"  Murphy 
fell.  The  old  hermit's  possessions  were  found  to 
abound  with  gold,  and  a  marvelously  fabulous  sum 
was  offered  to  him,  and  he  accepted.  A  banquet  was 
given  to  celebrate  the  event,  and  "Father"  Murphy,  in 
an  unfortunate  moment,  looked  on  the  wine  when  it 
was  rosy.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 

A  few  weeks  later  found  "Father"  Murphy  in  San 
Francisco,  rolling  it  as  high  as  the  highest  roller.  He 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  He  had 
discarded  his  frontierman's  garb  and  affected  a  cos 
tume  which  had  cost  him  a  pretty  penny  at  the  most 
fashionable  tailor's  in  the  city.  His  companions  were 


32  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

of  the  most  riotous  and  flashy  kind,  and  his  downfall 
came  quickly.  Attempting  to  cross  a  busy  thorough 
fare  one  day,  in  a  state  of  semi-intoxication,  he  was 
knocked  down  by  a  passing  vehicle,  which  rendered 
him  insensible,  and  from  the  effects  of  which  he  died. 
He  left  no  heirs  excepting  Pietro  Sanchez,  who  was 
to  be  the  sole  legatee  upon  the  fulfillment  of  one  curi 
ous  request. 

When  "Father"  Murphy  disposed  of  his  property 
he  retained  a  section  which  he  had  named  "Telegraph 
Hill."  This  "hill"  was  an  immense  rock  of  granite, 
which  rose  out  of  the  ground,  piercing  the  sky  to  a 
height  of  3000  feet.  It  was  a  beautiful  stone,  and  it 
presented  at  a  distance  all  the  appearance  of  a  huge 
tombstone.  "Father"  Murphy  had  been  so  impressed 
with  the  location  and  appearance  of  the  rock  that  he 
determined  to  make  it  his  mausoleum,  and  he  had  been 
at  work  at  odd  times  hewing  out  of  its  adamantine 
sides  an  aperture  large  enough  to  contain  his  body. 
It  had  been  understood  between  him  and  his  Portu 
guese  friend  that  this  spot  was  to  be  his  final  resting- 
place,  and  Pietro  had  received  full  instructions  how  to 
arrange  for  the  placing  of  the  body. 

The  hermit  had  carved  with  his  crude  tools  the 
following  inscription:  "Telegraph  Hill.  Sacred  to 
the  memory  of  James  Murphy,  telegraph  operator  and 
lineman.  Born  at  Limerick,  Ireland,  A.  D.,  1801.  Died 
.  Beware  of  Temptation." 

It  was  a  labored  effort,  and  many  of  the  letters 
were  "back-door,"  but  there  was  a  pathos  about  the 
whole  which  was  little  short  of  sublime. 

Here  is  where  the  faithful  Pietro  placed  the  body 
of  his  friend.  The  ceremonies  were  simple,  and  the 


THE  HERMIT  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL 


33 


mourners  few.  The  work  of  filling  up  the  mouth  of 
the  tomb  was  done  by  an  artist  from  San  Francisco, 
and  so  cleverly  was  it  executed  that  it  would  be  im 
possible  to  detect  where  the  opening  in  the  rock  was 
made. 

There  have  been  many  more  costly  mausoleums 
erected  to  departed  loved  ones,  but  nothing  excels  in 
grandeur  of  construction,  height,  or  sublimity  of  loca 
tion  the  last  resting-place  of  James  Murphy,  "the 
hermit  of  Telegraph  Hill." 

The  mistake  of  "Father"  Murphy's  life  was  his  fly 
ing  from  temptation  instead  of  manfully  holding  his 
ground  and  fighting  the  battle  to  a  finish.  He  fled  and 
he  had  to  fight  the  battle  all  over  again.  His  twenty 
years  of  hermit's  life,  instead  of  strengthening  him, 
only  rendered  him  easier  prey  to  his  besetting  sin  when 
temptation  came. 


THE  advent  of  any  new  company,  be  it  a  tele 
graph  or  other  enterprise,  into  a  field  already 
covered  by  a  corporation  pursuing  the  same 
line  of  business  is  apt  to  provoke  much  rivalry.  It  is 
not  at  all  strange,  therefore,  that  when  the  Postal 
extended  their  system  to  the  Pacific  Coast  that  com 
petition  between  that  company  and  the  Western 
Union  became  rife.  The  prosperity  of  a  new  company 
depends  at  first  largely  upon  the  personal  popularity 
of  the  officials  in  charge,  and  as  a  general  thing  official 
positions  were  offered  to  those  who  might  be  able  by 
their  acquaintance,  or  "pull/1  to  command  a  goodly 
share  of  patronage, 

The  Chinese  are  enthusiastic  patrons  of  the  tele 
graph.  They  like  quick  answers  and  frequently  they 
will  insist  upon  appending  the  words,  "Answer  im 
mediately,  right  away,  quick,  soon,"  to  their  messages 
when  they  think  that  it  will  insure  more  promptness 
in  reply.  This  class  of  business  is  well  worthy  of 
being  solicited,  but  as  the  Chinese  are  a  conservative 
lot  they  do  not  care  to  experiment,  and  they  generally 
stick  to  old  methods  of  doing  business  and  to  well- 
known  companies,  rather  than  to  try  something  new, 
So  it  must  be  that  something  out  of  the  usual  order  of 
things  has  to  occur  to  enable  an  opposition  company 


36  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

to  obtain  the  business  of  an  established  concern.  This 
vexed  question  solved  itself  in  one  of  our  flourishing 
Western  cities  and  brought  to  the  new  company  the 
coveted  patronage,  and  the  following  shows  how  it 
happened : 

Ah  Suey  was  a  Celestial  from  the  Flowery  King 
dom.     He  was  an  unusually  bright  Chinaman,  strong 
in  his  likes  and  dislikes,  and  he  was  considered  quite 
a  Sir  Oracle  in  Chinatown.    His  business  was  that  of 
janitor,   and   his   hieroglyphics   were   appended   to   a 
Western  Union  voucher  as  such  a  personage.     This 
was  accompanied  by  an  explanatory  note  from  the 
manager  that  the  hen-tracks  were  the  peculiar  way  in 
which  Ah  Suey  had  for  signing  his  name.     Ah  Suey 
had  an  eye  for  business,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  when  the  Postal  opened  its  office  that  he  ap 
plied  for  the  janitorship,  stating  as  reference  that  he 
was  performing  a  similar  service  with  the  other  com 
pany,  and  he  wished  to  hold  both  places.     He  was 
readily   engaged,    but   the   Western   Union   manager 
thought  that  it  was  hardly  right  that  Suey  should  work 
for  both  companies,  and  accordingly  dismissed  him. 
This   action  greatly  incensed   Ah   Suey,   and  he   de 
termined  on  dire  vengeance.    He  went  about  for  a  few 
days  apparently  in  a  brown  study,  but  one  morning 
he  seemed  to  have  discovered  what  he  was  looking  for 
in  the  realms  of  thought.     He  had  a  most  gorgeous 
Chinese  sign  painted  in  gold  and  black,  and  bordered 
with  red,  altogether  making  a  striking  effect.  Ah  Suey 
confidentially  informed  the  Postal  manager  that  the 
legend  on  the  sign  read:    "This  is  the  Chinaman's 
telegraph  office."     He  asked  permission  to  place  the 
sign   in   the   window,   a   request   which    was   readily 
granted. 


CARRYING  THE  WAR  INTO  CHINA 


37 


For  several  days  afterward  there  was  quite  a  heavy 
business  done  at  the  Postal,  received  from  its  Chinese 
patrons.  So  decided  and  complete  had  the  change  be- 


come  that  it  seemed  it  was  not  possible  that  the 
Chinese  sign  could  have  effected  so  much.  Suey  was 
in  high  glee,  and  he  would  chatter  volubly  in  his 
monosyllabic  language  to  his  countrymen  as  they 


38  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

dropped  in  to  file  their  messages.  Suey  evidently  had 
a  secret,  and  one  which  he  was  not  willing  to  impart. 
The  story  came  out  a  few  days  later,  however,  and  it 
showed  how  it  was  possible  to  carry  telegraphic  war 
into  Chinatown. 

On  one  of  the  principal  streets  in  Chinatown  is  a 
bulletin  board  which  conveys  to  the  Chinese  reader 
the  current  news  of  the  day.  This  board  is  used  also 
as  a  sort  of  an  advertising  medium,  and  Twin  Wo  Bing 
and  Whoop  La  Sing  will  there  inform  their  friends  and 
countrymen  that  they  have  just  received  by  the  latest 
steamer,  direct  from  China,  a  fresh  supply  of  rice  or 
opium,  or  whatever  the  invoice  might  be.  Advertise 
ments  of  the  new  play  at  the  Chinese  theater  and  news 
from  the  China-Japan  war  were  inscribed  on  this  bulle 
tin  board  also.  The  corner  was  the  most  interesting  in 
the  Chinese  quarter,  and  anything  that  was  put  on  the 
board  was  regarded  by  the  Chinese  as  strictly  reliable. 
This  was,  of  course,  known  to  Ah  Suey.  The  wily 
heathen  had  taken  advantage  of  it,  and  as  he  did  not 
care  for  expense  when  it  came  to  being  avenged  upon 
a  supposed  enemy,  he  had  emblazoned  in  the  most  con 
spicuous  place  on  the  board  a  card  which  was  inter 
preted  by  him  as  follows : 

"Notice — To  all  my  friends.  When  you  want  to 
telglap,  you  no  go  to  Western  Union,  no  good.  You 
go  to  Postal,  velly  nice  bossee  man  there,  heap  likee 
the  Chinaman.  (Signed)  Ah  Suey." 


CHAPTER  I 
Choice  Flowers  in  Barren  Soil 

A  DISAPPOINTED 
prospector     once     re 
marked:   "When   God 
created  the  world  He  had  a 
quantity  of  refuse  dirt,  lava 
and    rocks    left    over,    which 
He    dumped    down    on    the 
eastern    side    of    the    Sierra 
Nevada  Mountains,  and  man 

called  it  'Nevada.'  "  This  aspersion  is  hardly  fair,  for 
the  truly  rich  state  of  Nevada  is  not  only  rich  in  its 
mineral  wealth,  but  in  its  numerous  and  beautiful 
valleys  of  arable  land,  which  require  but  the  hand  of 
the  irrigator  to  produce  any  product  under  the  sun. 
There  are  arid  spots,  though,  some  indeed  so  barren 
and  waste  that  not  even  a  snake  or  horned  toad  can 
be  found  in  their  confines.  There  are  many  places 
where  rain  or  snow  never  falls,  and  where  the  sun 
shines  365  days  in  the  year,  never  being  interrupted 
even  for  a  moment. 

Such  a  place  was  Whisky  Flat.  This  flat  was  ten 
miles  wide,  lying  between  the  Tiobabe  Mountains  in 
the  east,  and  the  Del  Norte  Mountains  in  the  west  and 
north.  Here  the  alkali  and  saleratus  gleamed  like 
snow  in  the  sun's  bright  rays,  and  was  doubly  ex 
asperating  to  the  thirsty  traveler.  The  stage  road 


40  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

from  Red  Horse  to  Mammoth  City  cut  across  this 
desert,  the  trail  looking  like  a  dark  ribbon  on  a  bed  of 
snow,  to  the  observer  on  the  neighboring  hill. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Tiobabe  Mountains  was  a  low, 
thatched  cottage,  the  only  dwelling  in  this  wild  waste. 
A  few  hundred  feet  back  of  this  cottage  was  a  small 
spring,  which  came  with  a  gush  out  of  the  side  of  the 
mountain  and  found  its  way  into  a  little  reservoir. 

This  fountain  of  life  was  the  means  that  rendered 
habitable  the  solitary  dwelling.  Every  drop  of  the 
supply  not  used  by  the  inhabitants  of  this  remote  place 
was  utilized  in  irrigating  a  little  garden  of  some  two 
or  three  acres,  and  right  well  did  nature  respond  to 
the  call  upon  her  resources.  There  were  no  "seasons" 
here,  for  each  day  was  a  facsimile  of  the  day  previous. 
The  year  around  the  grass  grew  in  this  little  oasis 
and  the  weary  stage  traveler  was  always  glad  to  get 
to  this  haven,  for  it  was  generally  known  that  here 
would  be  found  a  good  meal,  which  is  a  luxury  that 
even  a  Nevada  traveler  can  enjoy. 

The  inhabitants  of  this  lonely  place  were  three  in 
number — a  mother,  daughter  and  son.  The  mother 
was  a  frail  little  woman,  with  a  remarkably  sweet  face 
and  voice.  She  gave  evidence  of  having  seen  better 
days,  and  one  need  but  to  talk  with  her  a  moment  to 
be  aware  that  Mrs.  Wythe  was  a  lady  of  culture  and 
refinement;  and  the  next  thought  uppermost  in  one's 
mind  was,  what  was  she  doing  in  such  a  strange  place? 
Her  daughter,  Edith,  was  a  shy,  blushing  girl  of  sev 
enteen  summers,  possessing  her  mother's  voice  and 
manner,  with  an  added  earnestness.  Dexter  was  a 
bright  lad  of  fifteen  years,  full  of  mirth  and  good 
humor,  and  intensely  devoted  to  his  mother  and  sister. 
Both  children  assisted  in  the  gardening,  and  made  it 
possible  for  their  little  mother  to  eke  out  an  existence 
in  that  desert  home. 


WHISKY  FLAT  41 

CHAPTER  II 
Whisky  Flat,  a  Telegraph  Station 

The  lonely  telegraph  wire  which  connected  Bodie 
with  Candelaria  was  in  trouble.  This  was  a  serious 
matter,  alike  to  the  telegraph  company  and  its  patrons, 
for  mining  stocks  were  on  the  boom,  and  every  five 
minutes  financially  made  or  ruined  some  speculator, 
and  so  it  was  that  when  the  wire  was  down,  all  hands 
and  the  cook  turned  out  to  repair  the  trouble.  The 
line  ran  by  the  little  stage  station  known  as  Whisky 
Flat,  then  across  the  desert,  turning  east  from  the 
Tiobabe  range  to  Marietta  and  other  well-known  min 
ing  towns,  now  deserted. 

The  day  was  unusually  hot  as  Jack  Hamlin  thun 
dered  down  the  mountainside  leading  to  the  "Flat." 
He  was  mounted  on  a  big  American  horse,  which  in 
earlier  days  had  been  used  in  the  pony-express  service, 
and  whose  instinct  was  to  "get  there"  as  quickly  as 
possible.  The  little  station  was  not  visible  to  Jack 
until  he  was  right  upon  it,  on  account  of  a  sharp  turn 
in  the  road.  It  was  a  pretty  picture  that  greeted  his 
eye.  The  cottage  had  just  received  a  new  coat  of 
whitewash,  and  vied  in  color  with  the  snow-white 
alkali  desert  that  lay  a  little  to  the  east  of  it.  Honey 
suckles  and  creeping  vines  covered  the  abode,  and 
quite  a  number  of  old-fashioned  roses  and  other  flow 
ers  bloomed  in  the  surrounding  garden.  A  girl,  bare 
foot  and  dressed  in  a  loose-fitting  calico  gown,  was 
sitting  near  the  spring,  but  the  noise  of  the  approach 
ing  horse  and  the  sudden  appearance  of  Jack  startled 
her,  and  with  a  nimble  and  graceful  bound  she  cleared 
the  fence  and  disappeared  inside  the  cottage,  out  of 
which  issued  little  Dexter. 


42  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

"Ki  yi !"  said  the  boy.  "Where  are  you  bound  for? 
That's  a  mighty  fine  horse  you  have.  He  beats  my  old 
skate  all  hollow.  You  had  better  come  in  and  rest,  and 
I'll  take  care  of  the  horse,  if  you  will  let  me  ride  him 
for  ten  minutes." 

The  boy's  hospitality  was  accepted,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  Jack  was  in  the  modest  parlor,  where  he 
introduced  himself  to  Mrs.  Wythe,  stating  that  his 
errand  in  that  vicinity  was  to  repair  the  telegraph 
wire.  He  was  received  with  every  evidence  of  hos 
pitality,  and  soon  sat  down  to  a  most  homelike  meal. 
Jack's  quick  eye  took  in  the  surroundings,  and  he 
marveled  to  see  so  many  evidences  of  refinement  as 
were  apparent  on  every  side.  Presently  a  youthful 
form  entered  the  room,  and  Jack  recognized  the  wil 
lowy  figure  which  he  had  seen  leap  the  fence  so 
gracefully. 

"My  daughter,  Edith,"  said  Mrs.  Wythe,  and  the 
girl  blushed  like  a  peony.  She  had  changed  her  dress, 
and  was  now  attired  in  a  simple  but  becoming  gown. 
Jack  smiled  a  little  at  the  thought  of  the  graceful  leap 
he  had  seen  her  take  a  little  while  before,  but  he  was 
lost  in  admiration  of  her  sweet  face  and  simple,  artless 
manner.  Her  face  was  one  that  betokens  rare  intelli 
gence.  Her  deep  violet  eyes  were  full  of  expression, 
and  were  an  index  to  her  character.  As  she  flitted 
hither  and  thither  arranging  the  table  for  dinner,  Jack 
could  not  help  thinking  that  the  young  lady's  face  and 
form  would  have  set  the  city  belles  wild  with  envy. 
Her  hair  had  that  indescribable  hue  that  the  Parisian 
woman  is  trying  so  hard  to  counterfeit  and  which 
resembles  very  closely  the  color  of  a  new  twenty- 


WHISKY  FLAT  43 

dollar  gold  piece.  Her  step  was  light  and  her  hands 
small  and  shapely.  Her  face  was  slightly  freckled, 
but  this  seemed  to  add  to,  rather  than  to  detract  from, 
her  beauty. 

To  Jack's  surprise,  she  spread  a  white  linen  cover 
over  the  homely  table  and  placed  a  bouquet  of  sweet- 
brier  roses  in  the  center.  A  brisk  conversation  was 
kept  up  during  the  progress  of  the  meal,  and  Jack 
learned  that  Miss  Edith  had  never  seen  a  steamboat, 
locomotive,  nor  had  ever  been  away  from  Whisky 
Flat  since  she  was  two  years  old.  Notwithstanding 
this,  she  was  on  familiar  terms  with  the  poets,  could 
speak  French  quite  fluently,  and  was  a  comparatively 
good  Greek  and  Latin  scholar.  Her  aptitude  for 
learning  was  great,  and  she  seemed  to  absorb  all 
book  lore.  The  girl  smiled  deprecatingly  as  her 
mother  recounted  her  accomplishments,  and  it  was 
pleasant  to  observe  her  modest  and  unaffected  de 
meanor.  There  seemed  to  be  a  great  bond  of  sympa 
thy  between  mother  and  daughter. 

Hamlin  related  how  he  was  out  repairing  the  line, 
and  said  that  he  wished  there  was  a  test  office  at 
Whisky  Flat,  for  it  would  be  a  great  help  in  similar 
cases  of  line  trouble.  He  also  said  that  there  was  no 
reason  why  Miss  Edith  could  not  learn  enough  of  the 
art  to  be  of  material  assistance;  and  if  she  were  so 
disposed  he  would  then  and  there  teach  her  the  alpha 
bet,  and  if  she  had  memorized  it  by  the  time  he 
returned  from  repairing  the  trouble,  he  would  leave 
her  his  pocket  relay  and  teach  her  how  to  make  the 
letters.  Edith  was  aglow  with  pleasure,  and  Mrs, 


44  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

Wythe  was  equally  pleased;  and  even  little  Dexter 
came  in  and  asked  to  be  enrolled  as  a  pupil. 

After  dinner  was  over,  Jack  mounted  his  horse, 
which  had  been  carefully  groomed  and  fed  by  the 
attentive  Dexter,  and  started  on  his  wearisome  ride 
across  the  hot  desert. 


CHAPTER  III 
Rencontre  With  Indians. 

A  person  traveling  along  the  road  or  in  the  woods 
in  an  Indian  country  often  meets  a  party  of  redskins ; 
but  the  meeting  partakes  largely  of  an  apparition,  for 
the  Indians  are  never  seen  until  the  traveler  comes  face 
to  face  with  them. 

Just  as  the  desert  had  been  crossed  and  Jack  was 
urging  his  horse  forward,  he  came  upon  such  an 
apparition.  They  were  four  in  number;  villainous- 
looking,  and  all  mounted;  but  there  were  only  three 
horses,  necessitating  one  of  the  number,  a  squaw,  to 
ride  behind  her  lord  and  master.  There  were  many 
ejaculations  as  the  party  beheld  Jack,  who  reined  up 
as  he  approached  them. 

"Ugh,"  said  one  ugly-looking  old  buck;  "tobac, 
tobac."  "Yes,"  said  Jack,  "here  is  some  tobac,"  toss 
ing  the  old  fellow  a  cigar.  "Me  tobac,"  squealed  the 
next  one,  and  the  next,  and  each  was  treated  to  a  cigar. 
"Me  tobac,  ME  tobac,"  yelled  the  squaw,  and  Jack 
tossed  her  a  weed,  which  she  caught  up  with  much 
dexterity.  Matches  were  next  demanded  and  were 


WHISKY  FLAT 


45 


readily  furnished,  and  then  a  cry  was  made  for  "fire 
water,"  but  this  demand  was  refused.  "Gun,  gun, 
lemme  seeum  gun,"  cried  the  leader,  pointing  to  Jack's 
rifle  which  was  slung  over  his  shoulder.  "Come  and 
take  it,"  said  Jack,  bringing  the  piece  to  his  shoulder 
in  an  instant  and  looking  down  its  long  barrel  at  the 


savage.  "Ugh,"  cried  the  Indians,  as  they  contemptu 
ously  filed  by,  none  of  them  deigning  to  look  behind  as 
Jack  kept  them  covered  until  they  were  well  on  their 
way. 

A  little  further  on  it  was  discovered  where  the 
Indians  had  evidently  camped,  and  where  they  had 
cut  and  stolen  about  a  hundred  feet  of  wire.  Repairs 
were  quickly  made,  and  the  joyful  fact  was  immedi 
ately  made  known  to  the  different  offices. 


46  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

Two  days  later  Jack  reappeared  at  the  Wythe  cot 
tage  on  his  return  to  Bodie.  He  learned  that  the 
Indian  party  which  he  had  met  were  some  renegades 
who  had  been  disowned  by  their  tribe  and  now  wan 
dered  from  place  to  place,  making  their  home  wherever 
night  overtook  them.  Mrs.  Wythe  related  that  she 
had  fed  the  Indians  and  their  horses,  in  consideration 
for  which  they  had  left  with  the  good  lady  the  wire 
which  they  had  stolen.  Mrs.  Wythe  was  a  friend  of 
the  Indians,  and  during  the  whole  of  her  fifteen  years' 
residence  in  this  wild  and  uninhabited  place  she  had 
never  been  molested.  Her  house  was  full  of  peace 
offerings  and  presents  from  Indians  who  had  been  lost 
in  the  desert  and  found  their  way  to  her  humble  but 
hospitable  cottage. 

Edith  beamed  with  delight  on  Jack's  arrival,  and 
she  joyfully  announced  that  she  had  mastered  the 
alphabet  and  was  ready  for  further  instructions.  The 
main  line  was  speedily  cut  in,  and  an  embryo  telegraph 
office  was  established  at  Whisky  Flat,  and  the  fact 
was  wired  at  once  to  the  Tariff  Bureau. 

"I  never  liked  the  name  of  Whisky  Flat,"  said  Mrs. 
Wythe,  "and  I  wanted  to  call  our  home  Wythe's  Sta 
tion,  but  the  stage-drivers  and  travelers  would  never 
agree  to  this,  and  I  suppose  that  we  will  have  to  go 
down  in  history  as  being  residents  of  Whisky  Flat." 

By  this  time  Hamlin  had  evinced  a  deep  interest  in 
the  family,  and  he  strove  by  dint  of  delicate  question 
ing  to  gather  a  little  family  history.  He  gleaned  that 
Mrs.  Wythe  was  one  of  a  large  family  which  had 
been  reduced  to  poverty  by  the  War  of  the  Rebellion, 


WHISKY  FLAT  47 

and,  when  Dick  Wythe  came  home  from  California 
with  reputed  great  wealth,  she  was  urged  to  marry 
him.  They  came  to  California,  but  an  unfortunate 
speculation  in  mining  stocks  exhausted  all  of  his 
money.  Fifteen  years  ago  they  had  come  to  Whisky 
Flat  to  live,  as  her  husband  had  discovered  gold  near 
by.  The  mine,  however,  had  proven  a  failure,  and  he 
had  gone  away  prospecting,  leaving  her  with  the  two 
children,  to  do  the  best  she  could.  She  fortunately 
interested  the  stage  company  in  her  case,  and  Whisky 
Flat  became  an  eating  station,  and  she  was  thus  able 
to  support  herself  and  her  little  family.  But  in  all 
these  years  she  had  never  been  away  from  her  home, 
and  her  children  had  only  such  advantages  of  educa 
tion  as  she  could  give  them.  She  had  been  a  governess 
in  Baltimore  in  her  early  life,  and  her  books  were  her 
chief  comfort  until  the  children  grew  up,  and  then  it 
became  her  greatest  delight  to  impart  to  the  little  ones 
the  knowledge  which  she  had  acquired.  And  so  it 
happened  that  few  young  ladies  with  an  hundredfold 
the  advantages  that  Edith  Wythe  possessed  were  her 
equals  in  the  accomplishments  of  the  times. 

An  old-fashioned  melodeon,  a  relic  of  Mrs.  Wythe's 
girlhood  days,  occupied  a  space  in  the  cosy  parlor ;  and 
the  balance  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  music,  both 
mother  and  children  singing  with  much  sweetness. 
After  the  stirring  melodies  of  the  ante-bellum  days 
were  rendered,  the  gospel  hymn-book  was  opened  and 
they  sang  "Oh,  Where  Is  My  Wandering  Boy  To 
night?"  The  singing  closed  with  "Abide  With  Me," 
and  the  following  morning  Jack  bade  the  little  group 
an  affectionate  good-bye. 


48  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

CHAPTER  IV 

Edith  Becomes  an  Operator 

A  few  months  had  passed  by.  The  mining  excite 
ment  at  Bodie  was  at  its  height,  and  Jack  Hamlin  had 
almost  forgotten  his  adventure  at  Whisky  Flat,  when 
one  night,  after  everybody  on  the  line  had  said  "G.N.," 
there  came  a  call  over  the  wire.  It  was  a  timid,  fright 
ened  call.  "Bo"  "Bo"  "Bo"  "Wf"— "Bo"  "Bo"  "Wf," 
it  said.  "Hello,"  said  Jack,  "that  must  be  little  Edith 
at  Whisky  Flat."  He  answered  the  call,  but  for  a  few 
minutes  it  seemed  an  effort  for  the  operator  at  "Wf"  to 
write;  but  this,  however,  soon  disappeared,  and  Edith 
told  Jack  that  she  had  been  practicing  constantly  for 
the  past  six  months,  that  she  was  up  with  the  lark  and 
never  retired  until  the  last  office  had  said  "good-night," 
and  she  was  able  to  copy  everything  that  came  over 
the  wire,  even  to  the  "stock  markets,"  which  are  con 
sidered  quite  a  feat. 

Life  in  a  mining  camp  is  very  uncertain  at  best,  and 
as  the  diamond  drill  on  the  i,2OO-foot  level  of  Juniper 
cut  into  horse  porphyry  when  it  was  deemed  certain 
that  there  was  a  27-foot  vein  of  gold-bearing  ore 
instead,  there  was  a  great  drop  in  the  stock  market  and 
this,  together  with  the  inability  to  show  any  good 
prospects  in  the  Oro  and  Mono  mines,  settled  the  fate 
of  Bodie.  Jack  decided  that  he  could  not  hang  his  for 
tunes  to  a  "dead  horse,"  and  determined  to  seek  newer 
fields.  Before  going,  Edith  requested  him  to  try  and 
secure  her  a  position  as  operator  somewhere.  She  said 
that  with  the  decadence  of  Bodie  the  stage  which 
passed  Whisky  Flat  was  to  be  abandoned,  and,  that 


WHISKY  FLAT  49 

being  the  family's  sole  means  of  sustenance,  she  found 
that  she  must  now  utilize  her  knowledge  of  telegraphy. 

It  was  a  memorable  day  in  the  lives  of  this  little 
family  when  Edith  prepared  to  start  for  Gold  Moun 
tain,  where  Jack  Hamlin  had  secured  for  her  a  position 
as  day  operator.  She  was  to  "travel,"  and  that  was  of 
itself  a  great  event.  Then  "she  was  going  to  be  among 
people."  To  be  sure,  Gold  Mountain  was  not  a  large 
place,  but  it  had  a  railroad,  four  stores,  a  town  hall, 
and  it  was  only  a  few  hours'  ride  from  Carson  City, 
where  Jim  Farrell  worked,  whose  sending  was  the 
fastest  on  the  line. 

It  would  be  hard  to  picture  Edith's  impression  of 
her  first  few  weeks  in  "civilization."  Following  out 
her  mother's  instructions,  she  soon  discarded  her 
home-made  frock  for  a  smart-looking  gown  made  by  a 
San  Francisco  modiste.  Other  additions  to  her  ward 
robe  made  a  complete  metamorphosis  in  her  appear 
ance,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  recognize  the 
demure  and  shy  miss  of  Whisky  Flat  in  the  winsome 
and  comely  operator  of  Gold  Mountain.  It  was 
impossible  to  get  a  letter  to  Whisky  Flat,  now  that 
the  stage  coach  had  been  abandoned,  and  the  nearest 
postoffice  was  twenty-four  miles  away,  but  the  wire 
from  Gold  Mountain  to  Edith's  old  home  was  con 
nected  every  evening,  and  she  and  Dexter  talked  away 
into  the  night,  for  the  latter  had  also  become  a  good 
operator. 

Edith  Wythe's  pleasant  face  and  frank,  open  man 
ner  soon  won  for  her  many  friends  and  admirers. 
There  was  nothing  but  sunshine  in  the  young  woman's 
mind,  and  her  sunny  nature  radiated  and  reflected 
itself  on  all  who  came  near  her. 


50  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

CHAPTER  V 
Shoals 

Percy  Billings  was  the  railroad  agent  at  Gold 
Mountain.  He  was  handsome,  but  rather  rakish- 
looking,  and  it  was  whispered  that  he  used  to  deal  faro 
as  a  business,  in  San  Francisco;  but  the  report  given 
by  the  Fidelity  Trust  Company,  who  were  on  his  bonds 
to  the  railroad  company,  would  indicate  that  he  was  of 
exceptionally  good  character  and  that  his  previous  life 
had  been  without  a  blemish. 

Edith's  fair  face  and  graceful  figure  attracted 
Billings,  and  he  soon  became  very  much  enamored. 
To  the  simple,  inexperienced  mind  of  Edith,  Percy  was 
perfection  and  nobility  personified;  and  she  willingly 
placed  her  heart  in  his  keeping.  After  a  short  engage 
ment,  Billings  obtained  her  consent  to  a  secret  mar 
riage.  Edith  acquiesced  only  after  a  struggle  with 
herself,  and  on  the  assurance  of  her  lover  that  it  was 
for  the  best.  Matters  continued  in  this  way  for  several 
months,  Billings  displaying  much  attention  and 
devotion,  and  Edith  lavishing  upon  him  all  the  affec 
tion  of  her  fresh  young  heart.  One  day  a  letter  came 
to  Billings,  postmarked  San  Francisco,  the  address 
being  in  a  lady's  handwriting.  He  seemed  to  be  very 
much  perturbed  upon  reading  the  letter,  and  an 
nounced  to  the  startled  Edith  that  he  was  suddenly 
called  to  San  Francisco  and  would  be  absent  for  a 
couple  of  weeks ;  but  more  than  this  he  would  not  say. 
He  left  Gold  Mountain  that  evening,  never  to  return. 

Edith  waited  for  a  week  without  hearing  from  him, 
framing  an  excuse  for  him  in  her  own  mind,  that  he 
was  "too  busy"  or  that  "the  mails  were  irregular" ;  but 
as  weeks  grew  into  months,  she  began  to  have  many 


WHISKY  FLAT  61 

misgivings,  and  finally  determined  to  go  to  San 
Francisco  and  find  her  recreant  husband.  Accordingly, 
a  few  days  later  she  landed  in  California's  metropolis. 
She  had  once,  accidentally,  overheard  her  husband  tell 

a  friend  that  he  was  well  known  at  the  hotel, 

and  it  was  thither  that  Edith  bent  her  way. 

This  was  a  new  and  disagreeable  experience  to  this 
young  woman,  who  could  not  understand  why  the 
clerk  looked  at  her  so  peculiarly;  and  why  even  the 
employes  of  the  hotel  acted  familiarly  with  her.  When 
she  made  inquiries  for  Percy  Billings,  the  clerk's 
manner  became  even  more  offensive.  She  was  told 
that  he  was  stopping  at  the  hotel,  and  would  be  in 
very  soon ;  and  a  few  hours  later  a  meeting  took  place 
between  Edith  and  her  husband.  He  was  furious  to 
find  her  in  San  Francisco,  and  told  her  to  return  to 
her  home ;  that  he  did  not  want  to  see  her  any  more ; 
and  that  he  would  absolutely  have  nothing  to  do  with 
her.  Surprised,  ashamed,  and  mortified  beyond  meas 
ure,  Edith  repaired  to  her  room,  where  she  spent  an 
hour  in  writing  a  letter,  which  she  posted;  and  then, 
going  down  to  the  wharf,  purchased  a  ticket  to 
Oakland. 

Just  as  the  ferry-boat  Piedmont  was  passing  Goat 
Island  on  her  way  to  Oakland,  a  little  figure  jumped 
from  the  side  of  the  boat  into  .the  bay.  The  alarm  was 
immediately  given,  the  big  steamer  stopped,  and  a  boat 
was  put  out  into  the  dark  water ;  but,  owing  to  the  in 
tense  darkness,  the  person  could  not  be  rescued. 
Several  days  later  some  fishermen  discovered  the  body 
of  a  young  woman  near  Oakland  pier,  and  from  articles 
in  her  pocketbook  it  was  proven  to  be  the  remains  of 
Edith  Wythe. 


52  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

CHAPTER  VI 
Retribution 

A  year  later  a  party  of  gay  San  Franciscans  was 
spending  the  summer  months  at  one  of  the  lakes  in  the 
high  Sierras.  Among  the  party  was  Percy  Billings, 
gay  and  blase  as  of  old.  The  fate  of  Edith  Wythe 
never  seemed  to  have  worried  or  made  an  impression 
upon  him,  and  he  had  long  since  stopped  giving  her  a 
thought.  He  was  now  pursuing  his  former  vocation, 
that  of  a  professional  gambler,  for  a  livelihood. 

The  lake  near  by  which  he  was  camping  was  one  of 
those  remarkable  bodies  of  water  found  in  the  moun 
tains  of  California.  It  was  fed  by  the  snow  from  the 
Sierra  Nevadas,  having  several  inlets,  but  no  visible 
outlet.  Its  depth  was  very  great,  and  the  water  was 
so  pure  and  its  specific  gravity  so  small,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  swim  in  it.  A  rowboat  would  sink  to  its 
gunwale  with  very  little  weight,  and  the  Indians  were 
afraid  to  venture  on  this  lake  in  their  canoes,  believing 
it  possessed  of  the  devil.  There  was  a  strong  suction, 
which  indicated  that  there  must  be  a  subterranean 
outlet  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake. 

A  quiet,  handsome-looking  boy  was  about  to  take 
a  boat  out  for  a  row  one  afternoon,  when  Percy 
Billings  came  strolling  along.  "Your  name  is  Billings  ?" 
inquired  the  boy.  "Right  you  are,"  was  the  reply. 
Billings  was  invited  to  take  a  seat  in  the  boat,  which 
he  accepted,  and  very  soon  the  twain  were  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  out  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake. 

It  will  never  be  known  what  was  said  by  the  boy 
to  the  man,  nor  just  how  it  occurred,  but  the  spectators 
on  the  shore  heard  cries  from  the  boat  and  saw  both 
men  rise  to  their  feet  and  clinch,  upsetting  the  boat, 
and  Percy  Billings  and  Dexter  Wythe  went  to  the 
bottom  of  the  lake. 


WHISKY  FLAT 


53 


CHAPTER  VII 
Desolation 

The  lonely  wire  passing  Whisky  Flat  still  hangs  to 
the  tamarack  poles,  but  now  no  current  is  vibrating  its 
metallic  breast;  its  day  of  usefulness  is  over.  The 
mining  towns  that  it  once  connected  have  passed  into 
decadence.  The  spring  still  bubbles  forth  from  the 
mountainside,  refreshing  the  little  garden  as  of  old. 
An  old  man  sits  alone  in  the  doorway.  It  is  old  Dick 
Wythe.  He  has  returned  from  his  long  wanderings, 
and  come  home  to  rest  and  pass  the  remainder  of  his 
days  at  the  old  home  where  his  wife  and  children  spent 
so  many  happy  years;  but  he  has  come  too  late. 
Yonder  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  a  short  distance  from 
the  spring,  can  be  seen  two  little  mounds  of  earth,  and 
there  lie  Mrs.  Wythe  and  her  daughter  Edith.  Dexter's 

body  was  never  found. 

#     *     #     *     #     *     * 

It  is  wonderful  what  a  little  circumstance  will 
change  our  destinies.  It  is  passing  strange  that  such 
a  little  occurrence  as  a  half  a  dozen  renegade  Indians 
stealing  a  few  feet  of  telegraph  wire  should  convert 
this  once  happy  home  into  such  a  scene  of  desolation. 


LOST  OPPORTUNITIES 

44  "IT  AM  not  given  to  grieving  very  much  over  what 
might  have  been,"  remarked  a  genial  veteran  of 
the  key,  "but  were  it  not  for  a  runaway  stage 
coach  I  should  have  been  a  millionaire  twice  over.     I 
will  tell  you  how  it  occurred  : 

"I  was  the  operator  at  Treasure  Hill,  Nevada,  a 
very  prosperous  mining  camp  in  the  early  '705,  and 
you  can  just  bet  that  things  were  booming  in  those 
days.  I  was  also  express  agent,  and  my  salary 
amounted  to  $500  per  month.  Money  in  those  times 
was  no  good  excepting  to  buy  whisky  and  gamble 
with,  and  of  course  we  used  to  roll  things  high.  I 
made  lots  of  money  speculating  in  mining  stocks,  and, 
being  on  the  inside,  I  was  generally  pretty  lucky.  It 
was  at  a  time  when  fortunes  were  made  and  lost, 
sometimes  in  a  day,  and  so  it  was  in  my  own  case. 
Poles  were  poles  in  that  country,  for  there  was  not  a 
vestige  of  timber  in  a  radius  of  100  miles  of  Treasure 
Hill,  and  our  telegraph  line  was  run  on  the  tops  of  the 
sagebrush  over  half  the  distance  from  Carson.  The 
wire  always  worked  well,  for  it  seldom  rained  or 
snowed  here,  and  the  ground  was  generally  warm  and 
dry.  The  only  trouble  that  we  experienced  was  in  case 
of  loose  stock  running  afoul  the  wire,  breaking  and 
dragging  it  for  a  long  distance,  but  such  instances 
were  rare,  and  it  seems  a  fatal  coincidence  that  an 
occurrence  of  this  kind  has  kept  me  a  poor  man  all 
these  years.  Strikes  and  rumors  of  strikes  had  been 
rampant  on  the  Comstock  lode,  and  each  stock  took  its 

55 


56  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

turn  at  going  up  and  coming  down  frequently,  like  a 
skyrocket.  The  miners  at  the  several  points  kept  each 
other  posted  as  well  as  they  could  of  any  expected 
rise;  and  everyone,  women  included,  speculated  as  far 
as  their  means  allowed  them  in  the  stock  market. 

"One  evening  about  10  P.  M.,  a  horseman  drew  up 
in  our  camp  and  was  presently  closeted  with  some  of 
our  wealthy  mining  men.  An  hour  later  they  came  to 
my  office,  and  after  whispered  injunctions  to  me  to 
'keep  it  under  the  table/  I  was  informed  that  a  big 
strike  had  been  made  at  Crown  Point,  and  it  was 
expected  to  go  up  into  the  triple  figures  right  away. 
Crown  Point  was  selling  for  $4  a  share  at  the  closing 
afternoon  sales,  and,  after  scanning  my  balance  of 
cash  on  deposit  in  my  San  Francisco  broker's  hands,  I 
ascertained  that  I  could  purchase  1,000  shares,  and 
this  I  determined  to  do  at  once. 

"My  friends  wrote  out  their  orders  to  buy  Crown 
Point  stock,  but,  alas !  I  found  that  the  wire  was  open. 
Not  a  bit  of  current  could  I  detect,  and  I  informed 
them  of  that  fact.  Of  course,  I  could  not  tell  where 
the  trouble  was  nor  how  soon  it  would  be  repaired,  so 
the  miners  determined  to  start  one  of  their  number 
out  to  Diamond  Springs,  the  next  office,  some  forty 
miles  away,  but  I  decided  to  wait  and  send  my  order 
when  the  line  came  up.  This  was  my  fatal  mistake. 
My  friends  managed  to  reach  Diamond  Springs  and 
get  their  orders  sent  in  long  before  the  opening  of  the 
Board  the  following  morning,  and  they  paid  from  $3 
to  $4  per  share  for  the  stock.  I  waited  patiently  all 
the  following  day,  and  about  4  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
the  line  came  'O.  K.,'  and  the  first  question  I  asked 
was  for  the  closing  price  of  Crown  Point.  'There  has 
been  great  excitement  in  Crown  Point/  said  the 


LOST  OPPORTUNITIES  57 

Virginia  City  operator,  'and  it  closed  at  $450  a  share.' 
My  heart  almost  stopped  beating  at  this,  for  it  was 
out  of  the  question  for  me  to  buy  at  this  figure.  The 
excitement  continued,  the  stock  jumping  up  $200  and 
$300  each  day,  and  at  the  end  of  the  week  it  had 
reached  $2,000  a  share.  All  of  my  friends  sold  out  at 
this  figure,  and  I  was  the  most  disappointed  man  in 
Nevada.  If  I  had  gotten  my  order  in  for  1,000 
shares,  and  realized  $2,000  a  share,  I  would  have  been 
twice  a  millionaire.  This  seemed  to  be  the  turning- 
point  in  my  career,  for  after  this  I  never  seemed  to 
have  any  more  luck,  and  little  by  little  my  savings 
went,  until  I  was  left  a  poor  man.  The  cause  of  the 
wire  trouble  was  a  runaway  stage-coach,  which  tore 
the  wire  down  for  a  long  distance,  breaking  it  in  many 
places.  I  am  more  than  convinced  that  Shakespeare 
was  right  when  he  wrote:  'There  is  a  tide  in  the 
affairs  of  men  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to 
fortune/  " 

And  the  veteran  resumed  his  pipe  and  soliloquies. 


HERE  are  but  few  char 
acters  in  telegraph  his 
tory  like  the  hero  of  this 
sketch.  He  belonged  to  a  class  which  is  rapidly  pass 
ing  away,  but  who  were  of  much  service  in  cases  of 
emergency. 

Few  operators  had  brighter  prospects  than  had 
Hank  Cowan.  His  reputation  as  an  operator  was 
known  all  over  the  country.  His  "copy"  was  like  a 
picture;  he  could  take  anything,  and  his  wrist  was 
like  steel  when  he  sent  the  overland  report.  "Hank" 
was  a  handsome  fellow;  his  only  defect  being  a  bad 
cut  on  his  eyelid,  which  gave  him  rather  a  sinister 
expression,  really  entirely  foreign  to  his  nature.  He 
possessed  the  kindest  of  hearts,  and  never  forgot  a 
favor  shown  him.  His  only  fault  was  in  his  fondness 
for  red  liquor,  and  on  this  account  he  was  always 
getting  into  endless  scrapes.  Many  and  many  a  time 
did  he  bravely  try  to  overcome  this  evil  habit,  only  to 
succumb  after  two  or  three  months  of  excellent  be 
havior,  when  off  he  would  go  again  to  hunt  up  another 
position,  only  to  repeat  the  same  occurrence  in  the  new 
field.  There  were  many  stories  told  about  "Hank," 

59 


60  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

but  they  were  all  good-natured,  for  he  was  a  man  who 
would  do  no  one  a  willful  wrong. 

There  is  an  office  in  the  West  where,  on  payday, 
the  manager  exacted  the  operators  to  stand  in  line, 
and  he  would  go  up  and  down  the  line  handing  the 
men  their  wages.  "Hank,"  in  his  peregrinations, 
arrived  at  this  place  and  put  in  two  nights'  work, 
which  was  a  fact  that  seemed  to  have  been  overlooked 
by  the  manager.  Cowan  stood  in  line  with  the  rest, 
till  he  saw  that  he  was  going  to  be  neglected ;  then  he 
sang  out  in  his  clear  tenor  voice,  to  the  tune  of  a 
beautiful  hymn: 

"Manager,  manager, 

Hear  my  humble  cry; 
While  on  others  thou  art  smiling, 

Do  not  pass  me  by." 

The  plaintive  air  and  words  won  the  heart  of  the 
manager,  who  settled  up  with  him. 

It  was  somewhere  about  '77  that  "Hank"  worked 
for  the  "A.  &  P."  in  Chicago.  He  could  always  get 
along  with  that  company  better  than  with  any  other, 
for  they  were  more  lenient  with  his  shortcomings. 
He  secured  board  in  a  very  nice  part  of  the  city,  and 
was  doing  very  well  until  one  day  he  met  some  boon 
companions  and  became  a  participant  in  their  riot- 
ousness.  About  midnight  he  essayed  to  find  his  way 
home,  but  in  his  boozy  condition  "all  houses  looked 
alike  to  him."  A  good-natured  policeman  who  knew 
him  came  along  and  undertook  to  escort  him  home. 
Presently  they  arrived  at  his  abode,  and  the  police 
man  took  him  up  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  "Whasher 
name?"  said  Hank,  who  did  not  recognize  his  friend. 
"Never  mind,"  replied  the  guardian  of  the  night,  "go 


"PASS  ME  NOT"  61 

in  and  go  to  bed  now."  "Noshir,  I  want  (hie)  to  know 
(hie)  your  (hie)  name  (hie,  hie)."  "Well,  my  name  is 
Paul,"  said  the  watchman.  "Paul,  Paul?"  said 
"Hank"  retrospectively,  as  if  trying  to  recall  some 
image  of  the  past.  "I  shay,  Paul  (hie),  did  you  (hie) 
ever  get  a  (hie)  answer  (hie)  to  that  long  letter  (hie) 
that  you  wrote  (hie)  to  the  Ephesians  (hie,  hie)  ?" 

History  has  not  recorded  the  policeman's  reply,  but 
these  were  Hank's  last  days  in  Chicago. 

A  week  later  a  postal  card  was  received  from  Albu 
querque,  New  Mexico,  in  Hank's  well-known  hand 
writing,  reading: 

"The  bulls  on  the  Cincinnati  wire  distress  me.  I 
think  that  I  will  quit.  Please  accept  my  resignation. 
Hank  Cowan." 


WELCOMING  THE  PRESIDENT 

VIRGINIA  CITY,  Nevada,  was  a  bustling  town 
in  the  year  1879.  The  amount  of  telegraph 
business  done  at  this  point  was  large,  and  the 
operators  employed  were  the  flower  of  the  profession. 
There  were  not  many  social  inducements  to  keep  men 
there,  but  there  was  a  spirit  of  freedom  and  bonhomie 
always  manifested  by  the  residents  of  this  gold  region 
that  could  never  be  experienced  elsewhere.  Every 
opportunity  was  taken  to  break  the  monotony  of  life 
in  this  mining  camp,  and  generally  the  calendar  was 
scanned  in  advance  to  see  what  would  be  the  next  day 
to  celebrate.  It  was  no  wonder  then  that  the  boys  in 
the  Western  Union  office  hailed  with  delight  the  visit 
to  Virginia  City  of  President  William  Orton,  of  the 
Western  Union  Telegraph  Company,  accompanied  by 
General  Anson  Stager.  Mr.  Orton  had  been  in  failing 
health  for  some  time,  and  the  trip  to  the  Pacific  Coast 
was  taken  with  a  view  to  recuperation.  The  news 
had  been  heralded  from  Omaha,  Cheyenne  and  Salt 
Lake  City,  giving  the  itinerary  of  the  party  and  indi 
cating  that  the  several  managers  along  the  route  were 
doing  all  in  their  power  to  entertain  the  noted  visitors. 
Eugene  H.  Sherwood,  well  known  to  the  profession 
all  over  the  country  as  "Sherry,"  was  at  that  time  an 
operator  in  the  Virginia  City  office.  He  was  full  of 
pranks,  and  always  ready  for  a  lark,  so  he  determined 
to  have  a  little  fun  on  the  occasion  of  the  contemplated 
visit.  Yes,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  receive  the 
party  in  true  Western  style,  and  in  a  way  that  they 
would  not  soon  forget.  He  acquainted  the  worthy 
manager  of  the  coming  event,  and  requested  that  $20 
be  donated  for  the  purpose  of  "fixing  up"  the  office. 


64  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

The  modest  demand  was  readily  complied  with,  and 
"Sherry"  was  appointed  a  committee  of  the  whole  to 
decorate  the  office  according  to  his  own  best  judg 
ment.  Here  was  a  chance  for  a  first-class  frolic,  and 
"Sherry"  was  quick  to  improve  it. 

A  troupe  of  British  blondes  and  high  kickers  had 
visited  the  city  recently,  and  left  as  a  reminder  their 
Venus-like  pictures  and  forms  in  the  usual  grotesque 
attitudes  on  the  dead  walls  throughout  the  city. 
Accompanied  by  a  sable  companion,  "Sherry"  care 
fully  took  down  all  of  this  paper,  and  a  few  hours  later 
these  fairy  figures  were  gracing  the  walls  of  the 
operating-room.  Next,  Captain  Sam,  of  the  Piute 
tribe,  was  interviewed,  and  he  soon  made  a  bargain 
to  produce  seven  braves,  squaws  and  papooses,  to 
gether  with  himself,  at  six  bits  a  head,  all  to  be  on 
hand  the  following  morning  at  the  office,  there  to 
welcome  the  "great  father  of  the  wiregraph."  A 
number  of  Indian  dogs  and  curios  to  be  in  this  retinue 
were  included  in  the  contract  with  Captain  Sam. 
Sundry  guns  and  small  arms  and  old  boots,  with  a 
number  of  miners'  picks,  shovels,  and  other  imple 
ments,  were  borrowed  from  the  Miners'  Union,  to  lend 
a  business  effect  to  the  adornments  of  the  office.  So 
quietly  and  effectively  was  this  work  planned  and 
executed  that  the  said  worthy  manager  had  no  sus 
picion  of  what  was  going  on.  Mr.  Orton  and  party 
arrived  about  10  A.  M.,  and,  accompanied  by  General 
Stager  and  Superintendent  Frank  Bell,  of  the  Nevada 
district,  repaired  at  once  to  the  telegraph  office. 
Superintendent  Bell  was  particularly  proud  of  this 
office;  not  so  much,  however,  for  elaborateness  of  its 
furnishings  (which  did  not  exist),  as  for  the  great 
revenue  that  the  company  derived  from  it.  It  was. 


WELCOMING  THE  PRESIDENT  65 

therefore,  with  an  important  air  that  he  led  the  pro 
cession  up  the  stairway  and  into  the  operating-room. 
He  was  the  first  to  enter,  and  his  eye  took  in  at  a 
glance  the  situation,  and  he  was  for  a  moment  speech 
less  with  consternation  and  surprise.  General  Stager 
had  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  viewed  the 
startling  effect  of  "Sherry's"  work.  Turning  to  Mr. 
Orton,  he  smilingly  whispered  a  few  words,  and  both 
of  the  gentlemen  entered  immediately  into  the  spirit 
of  the  fun.  President  Orton  was  introduced  to  all  of 
the  operators,  and  to  each  he  spoke  pleasantly  for  a 
few  moments,  inquiring  where  each  belonged  and 
their  prospects,  present  and  future.  His  kindly  face 
and  pleasant  talk  won  the  hearts  of  all  the  employes, 
and  it  is  possible  that  "Sherry"  had  some  little  com 
punction  for  the  unusual  mode  of  reception.  Captain 
Sam  and  his  braves  were  in  turn  introduced  to  the 
guests,  and  in  true  Indian  fashion  asked  for  "four 
bitta"  to  remember  him  by.  Each  of  the  Indians 
received  a  silver  piece,  and  the  guests  took  their 
departure,  thus  ending  a  very  pleasant  episode. 
"Sherry"  greatly  enjoyed  the  result  of  his  "entertain 
ment,"  but  he  could  see  from  the  look  of  chagrin  on 
the  face  of  Superintendent  Bell  that  a  day  of  reckoning 
was  bound  to  come.  Messrs.  Orton  and  Stager  left  for 
San  Francisco  the  same  evening,  and  all  of  the 
employes  that  could  do  so  went  down  to  the  depot  to 
bid  them  good-bye.  Mr.  Bell  took  the  party  to  Cali 
fornia,  and  on  his  return  interviewed  the  doughty 
"Sherry,"  who  was  prepared  for  the  worst. 

"I  had  intended  to  discharge  you,"  said  Mr.  Bell, 
"and  I  told  Mr.  Orton  so,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  it, 
and  insisted  that  he  enjoyed  his  reception  at  the 
Virginia  City  office  more  than  at  any  other  point  on 


66 


WELCOMING  THE  PRESIDENT  67 

the  route;  and  that,  instead  of  discharging  the  pro 
moter  of  the  entertainment,  I  should  grant  him  thirty 
days'  vacation  with  full  pay." 

This  was  a  happy  and  unlooked-for  denouement  to 
the  reception,  and  endeared  President  Orton  more 
than  ever  to  the  little  band  of  operators.  It  was  not 
long  afterward  that  these  same  wires,  that  had  told 
of  President  Orton's  journeying,  conveyed  the  news  of 
his  untimely  demise,  followed  soon  after  by  that  of 
General  Stager ;  and  no  one  regretted  it  more  than  the 
warm-hearted  boys  of  the  Virginia  City  office. 

"Sherry"  is  now  at  Fremont,  Ohio.  Time  and  mis 
fortune  have  not  changed  his  dauntless  and  cheerful 
spirit;  and  to  any  visitor  to  his  native  town  he  will 
recount  better  than  I  have  done  how  he  welcomed  the 
president  to  Nevada's  metropolis. 


"WHAT'S  'ATIN'  YOU?" 

IT  will  be  interesting  to  the  telegraphic  frater 
nity  to  know  that  one  of  their  craft  is  responsible 
for  a  number  of  so-called  slang  expressions  and 
quaint  sayings  in  daily  usage,  although  the  author 
crossed  the  River  Styx  many  years  ago. 

James  P.  Doody  was  his  name,  and,  as  an  operator, 
he  ranked  as  a  constellation  by  himself.  Born  of  Irish 
parents,  he  had  imbibed  the  true  appreciation  of  the 
humorous  for  which  that  race  is  noted,  and  his  life  was 
apparently  one  huge  and  constant  joke.  He  was  well 
and  favorably  known  in  New  Orleans,  Memphis,  and 
throughout  the  South  generally,  and  during  his  tele 
graphic  career  he  had  traveled  far  and  wide,  always 
leaving  some  very  pleasant  remembrance  behind  him. 
He  took  much  pride  in  his  profession,  and  to  him  is 
accredited  the  saying:  "Once  an  operator,  always  a 
gentleman." 

"What's  'atin'  you?"  is  a  very  inelegant  expression, 
and  Jim  seems  to  have  been  responsible  for  its  intro 
duction  into  polite  society.  He  was  working  in 
Omaha  at  one  time,  and  the  late  H.  C.  Maynard,  of 
Chicago,  was  sending  "C.  U.  B."  to  him.  The  wire 
was  working  hard,  and  Jim  had  to  break  a  good  deal. 
This  seemed  to  vex  the  sender,  who  ejaculated  a  little 
petulantly:  "What's  the  '18'  with  you?"  (which 
means  in  telegraphic  parlance,  What  is  the  matter 
with  you?).  Jim  quickly  retorted:  "What's  'atin' 
you?" 

Some  of  the  boys  in  the  Chicago  office  overheard 
the  remark  by  Mr.  Maynard  and  Jim's  rejoinder,  and 
almost  immediately  the  phrase  came  into  common 
usage  among  the  operators  of  Chicago.  The  wires 


70  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

soon  conveyed  the  expression  to  the  remotest  parts 
of  the  country,  until  now  it  is  not  an  uncommon  thing 
to  hear  an  Indian  in  Southern  California  assert  his 
indignation  by  asking,  "What's  'atin'  you?" 

One  hears,  very  often,  the  expression,  "I'll  do  it — 
nit,"  and  would  hardly  think  that  Professor  Morse's 
alphabet,  purposely  mutilated,  made  it  possible  to  give 
birth  to  such  a  meaningless  expression.  Everybody 
knows  that  the  letter  "i"  in  telegraphic  characters  is 
represented  by  two  dots,  thus:  "..";  and  that  the 
letter  "o"  is  a  dot,  space  and  dot,  thus:  ".." 

Jim  Doody,  with  his  extravagant  love  for  some 
thing  new  and  odd,  instead  of  replying  to  a  question 
over  the  wire,  "I  cannot,"  or  "I  will  not,"  would  sub 
stitute  intentionally  an  "i"  for  an  "o,"  and  say,  "I 
cannit,"  or  "I  will  nit."  This  was  taken  up  by  the 
railroad  operators  too ;  they  in  turn  communicated  it 
to  the  train  hands,  who,  always  ready  and  eager  for 
something  new,  took  it  up  and  passed  it  along,  until 
now  one's  ears  are  tortured  by  hearing  it  on  every  side. 
Even  the  negro  minstrel  seems  to  have  found  some 
thing  ridiculously  funny  in  Jim's  idle  remark,  for  there 
is  an  alleged  joke  going  the  rounds  telling  of  a  man 
who  seemingly  had  no  affection  for  his  mother-in-law 
and  was  rebuked  by  his  wife,  who  said:  "Why, 
Charlie,  mamma  thinks  a  great  deal  of  you.  Just  see 
her  over  there  now  in  her  room  knitting  a  pair  of 
stockings  for  you."  To  this  Charlie  sarcastically 
replies:  "Yes,  I  like  to  see  my  mother-in-law — knit." 

Many  another  slang  saying  originated  in  the  fertile 
brain  of  Jim  Doody.  Some  fell  by  the  wayside  and 


'WHAT'S  'ATIN'  YOU?" 


71 


were  speedily  choked  up,  but  the  few  that  I  have  men 
tioned  seem  to  have  fallen  on  good  ground,  for  their 
spirit  still  goes  marching  on. 

Bright,  genial  characters  like  Jim  Doody  are  not 
met  with  every  day,  and  their  friendship  and  acquaint 
ance  do  much  to  break  and  brighten  the  dull  monotony 
of  life  and  teach  us  to  believe  that 

"A  little  nonsense,  now  and  then, 
Is  relished  by  the  best  of  men." 


PIONEER  AND   MODERN   TELEGRAPHY   ON 
THE  PACIFIC  COAST 

PRIOR  to  the  year  1857,  the  science  of  signalling 
by  telegraph  in  all  the  vast  country  north  of 
California  was  confined  to  the  very  primitive 
method  of  campfires,  so  generally  in  vogue  from  time 
immemorial  among  the  North  American  Indians. 
There  was  no  "wig-wagging"  or  "telegraphing  from 
balloons"  in  time  of  war  in  those  days,  but  the  gently 
ascending  smoke  of  the  fir  tree,  by  day,  or  the  sight 
of  its  flame  by  night,  discernible  a  score  of  miles  away, 
was  among  the  tactics  adopted  by  the.  early  settlers  as 
well  as  by  the  aborigines  themselves. 

When  the  news  reached  the  J49ers  in  this  part 
of  the  country  of  the  exploits  of  the  telegraph,  the 
same  being  told  by  later  comers  to  this  country,  the 
stories  were  generally  discredited.  Later  on  the  enter 
prising  newspapers  of  San  Francisco  received,  con 
tained  a  few  hundred  words  of  telegraph  news  from 
the  East  each  day,  but  even  this  was  not  sufficient  to 
satisfy  the  doubting  ones,  who  could  not  conceive  how 
it  was  possible  to  send  letters  and  words  over  an  inan 
imate  piece  of  iron. 

It  was  not  until  the  year  1857  that  a  practical 
demonstration  was  made,  when  Messrs.  Johnson  and 
Robertson,  two  sound-operators,  arrived  in  Portland 
and  began  soliciting  subscriptions  to  build  a  line  to 
California.  They  met  with  some  success  in  raising 
funds  and  built  a  line  through  the  dense  woods  up  the 
Willamette  valley  as  far  as  Dayton,  Oregon;  but  at 
that  point  their  funds  and  enthusiasm  gave  out  simul 
taneously,  and  the  enterprise  was  abandoned.  Two 
years  later  a  more  determined  effort  was  made  by 

73 


74  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

J.  E.  Strong  to  build  a  line  to  connect  the  City  of 
Portland  with  the  California  Telegraph  Company, 
which  then  had  for  its  northern  terminus  Yreka,  in 
Siskiyou  county,  California,  and  which  at  that  time 
was  famous  as  a  mining  camp. 

This  line  was  completed  to  Eugene,  Oregon,  a  dis 
tance  of  125  miles,  and  there  work  was  suspended  and 
practically  abandoned,  owing  to  the  loss  of  the  ship 
Ben  Holladay,  which  had  on  board  the  wire  and  other 
material  for  the  completion  of  the  line  to  Yreka,  off 
the  coast  of  Chili.  In  1863  "Commodore"  R.  R. 
Haines,  now  manager  of  the  Postal  Telegraph  Cable 
Company,  at  Los  Angeles,  Cal.,  was  selected  by 
Colonel  James  Gamble  to  prosecute  the  building  of 
the  line  from  Eugene  south,  to  meet  the  California 
line.  It  is  due  to  the  Commodore's  energy  and  in 
trepidity  that  the  line  was  completed  the  following 
February.  The  wire  used  was  number  9  in  size,  and 
the  insulators  were  of  the  crudest  and  most  primitive 
character.  The  country  most  all  of  the  way  is  densely 
wooded,  and  the  wire  was  to  a  large  extent  attached 
to  timber. 

Dr.  O.  P.  S.  Plummer,  now  a  practicing  physician 
of  Portland,  was  the  first  manager  of  the  Portland 
office.  The  doctor  was  a  crack  operator  in  those  days, 
and  could  read  more  that  "didn't  come"  than  any 
operator  in  the  country.  He  had  been  working  the 
"overland"  at  San  Francisco  when  the  late  James  H. 
Guild,  for  so  many  years  superintendent  of  the  Oregon 
Railroad  &  Navigation  Telegraph  System,  was  oper 
ator  at  Carson  City,  Nevada.  For  the  first  six  months 
of  the  doctor's  administration  in  Portland,  he  was 
manager,  operator,  lineman  and  messenger.  People 
soon  got  acquainted  with  the  telegraph,  and  notwith- 


PIONEER  AND  MODERN   TELEGRAPHY  75 

standing  the  exorbitant  rates  a  very  good  business 
was  done.  The  rate  from  Portland  to  San  Francisco 
was  $3.00  for  ten  words,  and  $1.25  for  each  additional 
five  words  or  fraction  thereof.  The  rate  to  New  York 
was  $8.50  for  ten  words,  and  75  cents  for  each  addi 
tional  word.  About  this  time  there  was  a  strong 
speculation  in  mining  stocks,  and  the  telegraph  began 
to  reap  a  golden  harvest.  More  operators  and  other 
assistants  were  soon  employed,  and  Portland  became 
a  leading  factor  in  the  California  State  telegraph 
system. 

There  was  but  little  growth  to  the  country  or  to 
the  telegraph  in  Oregon  up  to  1882,  when  the  writer 
first  came  here.  One  through  wire  to  San  Francisco, 
one  way  wire  part  of  the  way,  and  a  railroad  wire  from 
Portland  to  Roseburg  was  practically  the  entire 
system.  North  of  Portland  was  one  lonely  little  wire 
which  crossed  the  river  at  Vancouver,  Washington, 
on  a  cable,  and  passed  through  a  thick  jungle  follow 
ing  the  Columbia  River  as  far  as  Kalama,  Washington. 
At  this  point  there  was  a  set  of  repeaters,  and  here  is 
where  the  line  branched  off  to  Astoria  on  the  west, 
and  Seattle,  Tacoma  and  Victoria  on  the  north.  When 
Portland  wished  to  send  to  Astoria,  the  north  was  cut 
off,  and  vice  versa,  so  that  all  the  telegraphic  facilities 
that  the  Territory  of  Washington  had  in  1882  was 
practically  one-half  of  a  wire,  and  that  was  amply 
sufficient  for  all  purposes.  An  official  of  the  Western 
Union  Telegraph  Company  remarked  to  me  about  this 
time  that  if  all  the  country  north  of  California  could 
be  eliminated  from  that  system,  the  company  would 
be  a  great  gainer  thereby. 

During  this  period  Henry  Villard  was  quietly 
prosecuting  his  Northern  Pacific  Railroad  scheme, 


76  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

and  the  eyes  of  Eastern  capitalists  were  being  turned 
yearningly  toward  the  great  Pacific  Northwest. 
Railroad  and  telegraph  lines  were  being  built  in  every 
direction,  many  paralleling  each  other,  and  telegraphic 
affairs  were  booming.  Much  capital  was  brought  into 
the  country,  and  many  fortunes  were  made,  and  I 
might  add,  parenthetically,  as  many  were  lost  in  this 
mad  rush.  The  Portland  office  assumed  metropolitan 
airs,  and  it  became  very  soon  the  mecca  for  many  a 
globe-trotting  artist  of  the  key.  Many  have  basked 
in  the  gentle  showers  for  which  Oregon  is  so  noted, 
and  have  gone  away  to  tell  the  story  to  others,  but 
many  have  remained  and  are  sincere  in  their  state 
ments  that  "there  is  no  country  like  it." 

From  the  nucleus  of  less  than  500  miles  of  pole  line 
and  1,000  miles  of  wire  in  Oregon  in  1882,  we  have 
today  over  4,000  miles  of  pole  line,  10,000  miles  of  wire. 

About  the  spring  of  '87  there  was  a  rumor  of  a  rival 
company  entering  the  field,  but  no  credit  was  given 
to  it,  as  it  hardly  seemed  possible  that  an  opposition 
company  would  defy  the  frowns  of  the  dreaded 
Rockies  and  the  uninviting  appearance  of  the  Bad 
Lands  to  come  out  this  long  distance  to  compete  with 
the  older  company.  But  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Henry 
Rosener  accompanied  by  Colonel  A.  B.  Chandler 
about  this  time  confirmed  the  report.  The  company 
prosecuted  their  work  very  vigorously  under  the  direc 
tion  of  Messrs.  Stronach,  Atchison  and  Robeson,  all 
expert  line  constructors. 

.  The  new  company  was  seriously  handicapped  for 
quite  a  long  time  by  its  meager  facilities,  but  its  advent 
was  warmly  welcomed  by  the  business  men  of  the 
Coast,  who  gave  the  new  enterprise  a  goodly  share  of 


PIONEER  AND  MODERN  TELEGRAPHY  77 

patronage.  Now,  however,  they  have  outgrown  their 
swaddling  clothes,  and  are  as  businesslike  and  preten 
tious  as  even  their  older  contemporary. 

The  total  number  of  people  depending  upon  the 
telegraph  for  a  livelihood  twenty-two  years  ago  in  this 
state  was  less  than  fifty,  but  now  there  is  an  army  of 
at  least  7,000  pursuing  telegraphic,  telephonic  and 
other  electrical  avocations.  The  entire  system  is  new 
and  strictly  up  to  date. 

Although  the  telegraphic  facilities  were  very 
meager  during  the  latter  '6os,  the  vast  country  west 
of  Salt  Lake  City,  operated  by  the  Western  Union 
Telegraph  Company,  which  is  administered  now  so 
ably  by  Mr.  Frank  Jaynes,  superintendent  at  San 
Francisco,  was  then  divided  into  five  districts,  all 
under  Colonel  James  Gamble,  of  San  Francisco. 

Frank  Bell  was  superintendent  for  the  State  of 
Nevada,  and  he  had  for  his  coadjutor  the  late  Peter 
H.  Lovell,  who  had  charge  of  the  White  Pine  line. 
This  was  a  single-wire  line  that  had  been  erected  prior 
to  the  building  of  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad,  and 
which  had  for  its  ramifications  many  erstwhile  pros 
perous  mining  camps  which  today  are  as  completely 
wiped  off  the  map  of  the  "Silver  State"  as  if  they 
never  had  existed. 

Commodore  R.  R.  Haines  was  the  superintendent 
of  the  Southern  California  and  Arizona  district,  which 
extended  from  the  Mojave  Desert  on  the  north,  to 
Tucson,  Arizona,  in  the  east. 

Dr.  O.  P.  S.  Plummer  was  the  superintendent  of 
the  Oregon  district ;  General  F.  H.  Lamb  was  superin 
tendent  for  Washington  Territory  and  British  Colum 
bia,  while  Frank  Jaynes  looked  out  for  Central 
California. 


78 


TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


It  would  seem  at  first  thought  that  there  was  a  super 
abundance  of  officials  for  the  company's  facilities  and 


business,  but  in 
easy  to  concen- 


those  days  it  was  not  so 
trate  and  handle  such  a 
district    as    it    is    today. 
There  were  no  railroads  in 
those  times,  and  commun 
ication    by    steamer    was 
very  irregular  and  uncer 
tain.     The  company  rec 
ognized  the  important  fact  that 
when   the   line  was  down  the 
receipts    stopped    and    the    ex 
penses  began ;  and  the  five  gen 
tlemen  selected  as  superintend 
ents  were  each  eminently  qual 
ified  for  the  position,  as  is  evi 
denced  by  the  stories   that  are 
often  told,  to  this  day,  of  their 
hardships    and    ex 
ploits    in    their   re 
spective  districts. 

A  superintendent 
in  those  days  did 
not  have  a  "snap." 
There  were  no  chief 
clerks,  claim  clerks, 
error  clerks,  ste 
nographers,  or  any 
other  such  coterie 
of  assistants  that  lighten  the  burdens  of  the  modern 


PIONEER  AND  MODERN   TELEGRAPHY  79 

superintendent,  but  a  practical  knowledge  of  dots  and 
dashes,  and  the  ability  to  climb  a  pole  were  the  quali 
fications  and  requirements  essential  to  a  successful 
superintendent. 

The  telegraph  in  Oregon  has  had  its  quaint  as  well 
as  its  useful  side,  but  probably  the  funniest  and  most 
daring  message  that  ever  passed  between  a  President 
and  a  Governor  (although  the  occurrence  took  place 
several  years  ago,  it  is  still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  many) 
was  during  the  Coxie  exodus.  President  Cleveland 
wired  Governor  Pennoyer  some  move  relative  to  the 
militia,  which  called  for  the  following  terse  but  pointed 
telegram : 

"Salem,  Oregon,  June  10,  1893. 
"Grover  Cleveland,  Washington,  D,  C. : 

"You  mind  your  business  and  I'll  mind  mine. 
"SYLVESTER  PENNOYER, 

"Governor." 


BILLY  M'GINNISS'  "WAKE." 

SOME  years  ago  a  queer  character  named  "Billy" 
McGinniss  had  charge  of  a  section  on  one  of 
our  Western  railroads.  The  original  name  of 
the  station  where  he  was  located  was  "Hell-to-Pay," 
and  it  was  known  by  that  name  for  a  long  time;  but 
with  the  completion  of  the  railroad  and  the  issuing  of 
maps  and  time-cards,  it  was  deemed  advisable  to 
change  it  to  the  more  euphonious  name  of  Eltopia. 

Billy  was  Irish  by  birth,  and  he  had  a  strong  love 
for  his  native  land,  and  it  was  with  much  chagrin  that 
he  found  that  his  section  men  were  all  Germans,  with 
not  a  single  man  from  his  own  beloved  country. 

He  was  somewhat  of  an  operator,  having  had  for 
his  tutor  the  irrepressible  "Dick"  Tubman,  who  was 
operator  at  the  "front"  during  the  construction  of  the 
road.  And  so  it  happened  that  Billy  McGinniss  would 
fill  his  subordinates  with  awe  when  he  occasionally 
invited  one  or  two  of  them  to  see  him  "touch  the  wire 
to  Yakima." 

Billy  was  a  hard  taskmaster,  and  he  made  it  a  point 
to  see  that  his  sturdy  laborers  did  not  "sojer"  with 
their  work.  He  had  the  reputation  of  getting  more 
work  out  of  his  men  than  any  other  section  foreman 
on  the  road.  He  gloried  in  his  record,  but  his  men 
cordially  disliked  him  and  his  driving  methods.  The 
end  came  one  day  when  Billy  was  laid  low  with  a 
fever,  and  he  expressed  his  conviction  that  his  last 
hour  had  arrived.  He  called  in  his  most  trusty  man, 
and  to  him  he  detailed  his  last  wishes.  The  estate 
was  not  large,  and,  after  sundry  bequests,  he  devised 
that  the  sum  of  $50  should  be  used  for  the  purpose  of 
holding  a  wake.  Billy's  last  request  was  that  this 
money  should  be  spent  in  whisky,  beer,  cigars,  pipes, 
tobacco  and  sandwiches,  and  that  his  section  men 


82 


TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


gather  around  his  remains  and  "wake"  him  in  the  true 
"ould  countrae"  style.     There  were  no  other  inhabi- 


"BILLY  TOUCHING  THE  WIRE  TO  YAKIMA' 


BILLY  McGINNISS'  "WAKE"  83 

tants  excepting  these  German  section  men  in  this  wild 
and  lonely  place,  and  the  refreshments  had  to  come 
from  Spokane.  Billy  died  as  he  had  expected,  and  the 
section  men  proceeded  in  a  conscientious  manner  to 
fulfill  the  last  wishes  of  the  departed.  Pipes  were 
filled,  and  beer  and  whisky  glasses  clinked  merrily  as 
the  mourners  drank  "Ge  soon  tight"  to  Billy.  They 
would  fill  their  glasses  and  then  walk  over  to  where 
the  corpse  was  laid  out,  and,  mournfully  shaking  their 
heads,  would  solemnly  drain  the  contents,  and  then 
proceed  to  refill  their  pipes. 

It  is  said  to  be  the  custom  on  occasions  of  this  kind 
to  recount  the  good  deeds  of  the  deceased  and  to 
bewail  his  demise,  but,  try  as  hard  as  they  might,  the 
Germans  could  not  recall  a  single  noble  deed  that  they 
could  commend.  This  fact  seemed  to  smite  their 
consciences,  for  the  men  did  not  think  that  it  was 
quite  right  to  partake  of  Billy's  hospitality  and  not 
even  say  a  good  word  to  his  memory.  A  liberal  liba 
tion  finally  quickened  the  heavy  brain  of  the  Teutonics, 
and  at  a  signal  from  their  leader  each  replenished  his 
glass  and  gathered  around  the  bier,  assuming  a 
grotesque,  mournful  air.  Gazing  at  Billy's  counte 
nance,  every  trace  of  past  resentment  seemed  to  dis 
appear  as  the  spokesman  ejaculated :  "Veil,  Pilly  vas 
a  goot  schmoker,  anyvay!" 


A  MESSENGER  BOY'S  TRIP  TO  LONDON 

IT  was  midnight  in  the  City  of  San  Francisco,  and 
that  gay  metropolis  was  alive  with  pleasure-seek 
ers  returning  home  from  their  various  places  of 
amusement  for  which  that  city  is  far  famed. 

In  the  district  messenger  office  on  Sutter  street, 
near  Kearney,  messenger  No.  47,  known  to  the  force  as 
"Chicken,"  had  just  gotten  back  from  a  "dig"  to  the 
Presidio. 

"Chicken"  had  returned  but  a  few  minutes  when  a 
richly  attired  lady  entered  the  office,  accompanied  by 
a  4-year-old  girl,  and  asked  the  clerk  to  let  her  engage 
the  brightest  messenger  on  the  force. 

No.  47  was  called,  and  the  lady  looked  at  him  with 
a  critical  eye,  and,  apparently  satisfied  with  her  in 
spection,  said:  "I  have  a  very  important  mission  to 
send  you  on,  and  money  is  no  object  in  this  matter.  I 
was  on  my  way  to  Australia  with  my  little  daughter 
here,  and  I  was  to  leave  tomorrow,  but  this  afternoon 
I  received  a  cablegram,  advising  me  to  return  to  Lon 
don  or  send  my  little  girl  home,  as  much  depended  on 
it.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  go,  as  I  have  engaged 
a  stateroom  for  tomorrow's  steamer  for  Australia, 
leaving  here  at  8.20  A.  M.,  and  I  want  to  send  my 
daughter  by  you  to  London,  England,  with  tomorrow 
night's  train. 

"I  will  pay  you  well  for  your  trouble,  and  we  will 
now  proceed  to  figure  up  the  expense.  The  fare  to 
New  York,  including  meals  and  sleeping  berths,  will 
not  exceed  $150 — we  will  call  it  $200.  Now,  you  will 
require  some  new  clothes  and  a  trunk,  say  $100  more. 
For  your  expenses  across  the  Atlantic  and  back  I  will 
allow  $400.  Then  your  return  fare  to  San  Francisco, 


86  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

$200  more,  and,  let  me  see — your  time,  and  an  extra 
fee  for  good  service;  say,  altogether,  $1,000.  I  will 
give  you  a  check  for  that  amount  now,  and  I  will 
expect  you  to  start  for  London  by  tomorrow  night's 
train." 

"Chicken"  was  surprised  and  delighted  with  the 
anticipated  trip  and  with  the  very  liberal  fee  that  he 
was  to  receive,  and  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the 
greater  was  his  joy. 

The  lady  figured  with  the  clerk  how  much  "Chick 
en's"  time  would  amount  to  for  a  month,  and  gener 
ously  handed  over  a  check  for  $100  for  the  boy's 
services. 

After  kissing  the  little  girl  good-by,  and  cautioning 
the  boy  to  be  careful  with  his  charge  the  lady 
departed,  and  "Chicken"  took  the  car  for  his  home, 
accompanied  by  the  little  girl. 

Arriving  there,  "Chicken"  imparted  to  his  father 
his  good  luck.  The  old  gentleman,  however,  was  a 
close  figurer,  and  he  saw  an  opportunity  of  purchasing 
the  corner  grocery  store  on  which  he  had  had  his  eye 
for  a  long  time.  He  scouted  the  idea  that  the  boy 
needed  any  new  clothes,  and  asserted  that  a  tourist 
sleeper  was  good  enough  for  anyone,  and  that  a 
basket  or  two  of  provisions  were  all  the  meals  neces 
sary  for  the  boy  and  his  charge.  A  steerage  passage 
across  the  ocean  would  be  a  picnic  for  the  boy,  and 
$150  would  cover  all  the  expenses  of  the  trip,  thus 
leaving  him  the  balance  to  purchase  the  grocery  store. 

"Chicken"  hardly  liked  the  turn  that  affairs  had 
taken,  but  he  feared  his  father's  ire  and  resolved  to 
make  the  best  of  it. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  day  father  and  son  were 
up,  and  long  before  banking  hours  they  were  down 


A  MESSENGER  BOY'S  TRIP  TO  LONDON 


87 


town.  They  stopped  en  route  at  Spear-street  wharf, 
and  there  "Chicken"  caught  a  last  glimpse  of  the  lady, 
who  waved  her  handkerchief  to  him  from  the  depart 
ing  steamer. 

Promptly  at  10  o'clock  the  twain  appeared  at  the 
Nevada  Bank,  upon  which  the  check  was  drawn,  and 
were  curtly  informed  that  the  maker  of  the  check  was 
unknown.  This  deeply  incensed  the  old  man,  who  fell 
to  belaboring  his  son  with  his  cane,  in  the  midst  of 
which  "Chicken"  awoke  and  found  that  his  comrades 
had  been  putting  ice  down  his  back  during  his  sleep. 


A  PIUTE  DETECTIVE 

Tale  of  a  Nevada  Telegraph  Operator 

TO  the  dense  mind  of  our  North  American 
Indian  a  joke  is  an  unknown  quantity,  and 
it  is  quite  certain  that  he  could  not  appre 
ciate  one  were  he  to  meet  it  alone  and  unlabeled  com 
ing  down  the  street  or  in  the  woods.  To  him  every 
thing  is  stern  reality,  and  he  has  little  time  for  a  joker 
or  his  fun.  All  Indian  legends  and  traditions,  when 
related  by  themselves,  are  told  in  a  semi-poetic  man 
ner,  but  stripped  entirely  of  anything  that  would  in 
the  least  smack  of  the  jocose.  Whether  it  was  really 
an  accident,  or  designed,  that  a  Piute  squaw  made  the 
hero  of  this  sketch  the  victim  of  a  practical  joke,  I  will 
leave  the  reader  to  decide. 

A  quarter  of  a  century  ago  there  was  no  better 
known  operator  in  the  Canadas,  Buffalo,  Chicago, 
Omaha  or  St.  Louis  than  George  E.  Millar.  He  was 
large  in  stature  and  big  of  heart.  He  was  the  office 
poet  and  the  author  of  many  a  humorous  story,  and 
his  presence  in  any  office  was  considered  an  acquisi 
tion.  About  1878  he  was  chief  operator  for  the  Atlan 
tic  &  Pacific  Telegraph  Company  in  St.  Louis,  but, 
filled  with  a  desire  to  improve  his  condition,  and 
believing  that  he  could  do  so  in  the  Far  West,  he 
accepted  the  managership  of  the  Pioche,  Nevada, 
office,  which  place  was  then  at  the  height  of  its  mining 
prosperity.  Two  years  later  found  him  at  Austin, 
Nevada,  a  solid  little  city  of  about  2,000  inhabitants. 
A  burg  in  an  Eastern  state  of  only  2,000  population 
would  be  reckoned  as  a  place  of  little  revenue  to  a 
telegraph  company,  but  things  were  different  in 
Nevada.  Out  of  the  2,000  inhabitants  of  Austin  there 

89 


90  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

were  1,977  men  and  about  two  dozen  women  and 
children.  The  population  was  a  very  cosmopolitan 
one,  being  composed  of  all  shades,  colors  and  condi 
tions  under  the  sun.  Outside  of  a  few  storekeepers 
the  entire  working  population  were  miners,  and  the 
camp  was  a  rich  one. 

Among  these  miners  one  might  find  doctors,  law 
yers,  professors,  clerks,  musicians  and  every  grade  of 
genteel  or  laborious  vocations,  working  side  by  side 
with  never  a  jar.  There  was  not  the  usual  roystering 
and  riotousness  in  Austin  that  so  generally  prevails 
in  other  mining  camps.  Women  were  few,  and  such 
a  thing  as  a  hired  girl  was  out  of  the  question,  for  the 
men  of  Austin  were  by  far  too  gallant  to  allow  a 
woman  to  work.  As  soon  as  one  came  to  the  town  she 
was  besieged  by  the  "philosophers"  with  offers  to 
marry,  and  such  women  were  soon  mated.  It  was  no 
easy  task,  therefore,  to  supply  the  demand  for  domes 
tics,  as  even  the  Chinese  were  above  working  in  the 
kitchen  in  those  days,  and  the  housewife  in  her  needs 
was  forced  to  fall  back  on  the  sturdy  Piute  squaw. 

The  belle  of  this  little  community  was  the  mayor's 
daughter,  and  naturally  enough  she  received  attention 
on  all  sides.  Nevertheless  George  soon  found  favor  in 
her  eyes.  Miss  Margaret  was  arbitrary  in  her  demands 
for  her  lover's  attention,  and  he  rarely  attempted  to 
remain  away  from  her  longer  than  was  necessary. 
One  evening  he  was  prevailed  upon  by  one  of  his 
friends  to  pass  a  few  hours  in  playing  a  social  game 
of  billiards.  George  was  for  a  time  unable  to  decide 
between  love  for  his  old  pastime  and  the  duty  he 
owed  to  his  affianced.  Yielding  to  his  friend's  solici 
tations,  however,  he  consented  to  while  away  the 
evening  with  him  and  not  to  make  any  apology  to 


A  PIUTE  DETECTIVE  91 

Miss  Margaret  till  the  morrow.  Margaret  had 
arranged  differently,  for,  after  waiting  until  the  usual 
time  for  George  to  put  in  an  appearance,  she  called  in 
her  Piute  squaw  to  assist  in  bringing  the  recalcitrant 
George  to  time.  A  happy  thought  struck  her,  and  she 
immediately  began  to  put  it  into  execution.  Going  to 
her  photograph  album,  she  produced  a  picture  of 
George  and  his  friend,  whom  she  suspected  of  being 
accessory  to  his  delinquency.  "See,  Mahala,"  she 
cried,  "look  here !  You  see  this  big  man  with  littee 
hair  on  his  head.  Now  you  see  this  littee  man?  You 
go  down  town  and  find  them,  and  tell  them  to  come 
home  quick ;  I  want  to  see  them." 

Mahala  seemed  quickly  to  take  in  the  situation, 
and  flinging  her  papoose  over  her  shoulder  started 
down  town  to  find  the  truant  lover.  She  first  visited 
the  hotel,  and  there  became  an  object  of  attention  with 
the  miners.  She  approached  each  one,  and  after 
earnestly  consulting  his  features,  would  scan  the 
photograph,  and,  with  a  shake  of  her  head,  pass  on  to 
the  next  one.  She  went  through  the  bar-room,  out 
into  the  street,  and  into  the  next  refectory,  where  the 
same  routine  was  gone  through  with.  After  a  tire 
some  search  of  more  than  an  hour,  she  entered  the 
well-appointed  billiard  parlor  of  "Jack"  Frost,  which 
was  filled  by  the  devotees  of  that  pastime.  Holding 
the  photograph  in  her  outstretched  hands,  and  with 
her  embryo  savage  on  her  back,  she  presented  a 
ludicrous  picture,  and  as  a  detective  she  would  have 
put  any  member  of  the  Pinkerton  force  to  shame.  She 
glanced  around,  and  presently  her  quick  eye  lighted 
on  George,  who  was  at  the  end  of  the  room.  Evidently 
she  could  not  believe  the  testimony  of  her  sight,  as  she 
glanced  at  the  picture  and  then  at  George.  The  latter 


A  PIUTE  DETECTIVE  03 

was  innocently  watching  his  friend  attempting  to  make 
a  difficult  "masse"  shot.  Approaching  the  unsuspect 
ing  George,  Mahala  ejaculated  in  her  guttural  tones, 
distinguishable  to  all  in  the  room:  "Ugh,  you  squaw, 
she  long  time  no  see  you ;  you  go  home  mucha  quick." 
A  glance  at  the  photograph  was  enough  to  tell  the 
story,  and  a  laugh  from  the  bystanding  "philosophers" 
showed  that  it  was  appreciated  by  them.  Mahala  was 
dismissed,  and  cigars  and  refreshments  were  ordered 
by  George,  who  speedily  sought  the  road  to  Margaret's 
domicile,  and  it  never  occurred  again  that  it  was 
necessary  to  press  Mahala  into  the  detective  service. 


ACROSS  THE  SIERRAS 

IVE  me  liberty  or  give  me  death,"  was  the 
slogan  of  the  great  and  patriotic  Virginian, 
and  the  sentiment  has  thundered  down 
the  ages  of  time  ever  since,  until  the  breast  of  every 
schoolboy  has  beaten  in  response  to  the  inspired  Pat 
rick  Henry. 

"Uncle  Sam"  is  an  indulgent  parent  and  is  always 
kind  enough  to  provide  Sunday  and  holiday  hours  for 
all  of  his  employes,  and  so  it  happened  that  the  post- 
office  in  the  City  of  San  Francisco  was  open  to  the 
public  only  between  the  hours  of  10  A.  M.  and  12  M. 
of  a  bright  Sunday  morning.  There  was  an  unusually 
large  crowd  gathered  in  and  around  the  depository  of 
the  mail.  Merchants,  great  and  small,  elbowed  with 
their  clerks;  bankers,  stenographers,  male  and  female, 
with  a  fair  sprinkling  of  wealthy  and  refined  ladies, 
had  gathered  to  receive  their  letters,  being  too  impa 
tient  to  wait  on  the  more  tardy  carrier  of  the  morrow. 
It  was  a  very  cosmopolitan  assemblage,  and  one  that 
could  be  seen  no  place  in  the  world  except  in  San 
Francisco. 

Mounted  on  a  dry  goods  box,  on  the  corner  oppo 
site  the  postoffice,  was  a  strange,  intense-looking  man. 
He  was  surveying  the  immense  assemblage,  evidently 
not  looking  for  any  particular  person,  but  viewing  the 
crowd  as  a  whole.  Suddenly  and  with  the  roar  of  a 
lion,  the  man  drew  a  revolver  from  his  hip  pocket, 
and  in  a  hoarse  voice  distinguishable  throughout  the 
multitude,  he  cried  out:  "Gimme  notoriety  or  gimme 
death !"  The  words  were  immediately  followed  by  the 
report  of  a  pistol.  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  they 
rang  out  and  a  great  shout  went  up  from  the  crowd. 

95 


96  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

"I'm  shot!"  "I'm  killed!"  was  the  cry  that  went  out 
from  many  throats.  The  bloodthirsty  villain  was 
speedily  thrown  from  his  perch  on  top  of  the  dry 
goods  box  and  dragged  into  an  adjacent  saloon.  Cries 
of  "Hang  him !"  went  up  from  the  crowd  and  a  rush 
was  made  to  seize  him,  but  the  timely  arrival  of  the 
"hurry-up  wagon"  which  conveyed  the  man  to  the 
Tombs  saved  his  life. 

At  the  prison  the  man  gave  his  name  as  "Hank" 
Bogardus,  and  his  business  that  of  a  comedian.  He 
sent  for  his  friend,  Marcus  Wiggin,  and  the  two  were 
closeted  for  an  hour.  Appearances  looked  very  blue  for 
Bogardus,  but  it  was  observed  that  Mr.  Wiggin  had  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  left  the  prisoner's  cell, 
which  was  not  considered  ominous  for  the  prisoner. 

It  was  found  that  notwithstanding  the  close  prox 
imity  of  Bogardus  to  the  crowd,  and  the  apparent 
deliberation  of  his  aim,  there  was  really  not  a  person 
who  could  show  a  scratch  on  his  body.  To  be  sure, 
there  were  holes  through  different  persons'  hats  and 
coats  shown  in  evidence  of  narrow  escapes,  and  one 
man  displayed  an  alleged  bullet-hole  in  his  trousers 
which  indicated  that  he  had  had  his  back  to  the  enemy, 
but  there  was  not  a  single  drop  of  blood  shed. 

The  morning  journals  vied  with  each  other  in  their 
accounts  of  the  dastardly  occurrence.  Pictures  of 
Banker  Brown,  who  had  his  silk  hat  shot  off  his  head, 
and  a  cut  of  Dr.  Pillbox,  who  exhibited  a  bullet-hole 
just  one-fourth  of  an  inch  above  his  heart,  and  a 
diabolical-looking  illustration  of  the  would-be  homi 
cide  were  among  the  chief  items  of  news  the  following 
morning.  All  the  papers  were  loud  in  their  denunci 
ations  of  the  prisoner  and  his  attempt  to  commit 
wholesale  murder,  and  labored  editorials  were  pub- 


ACROSS  THE  SIERRAS  97 

lished  essaying  to  find  a  severe  enough  punishment 
to  meet  the  crime. 

The  hero  of  all  this  excitement  remained  in  his  cell 
all  night,  calm,  serene  and  even  smiling,  which  betok 
ened,  according  to  all  the  traditions  of  the  police 
department,  a  great  hardness  of  heart. 

The  courtroom  was  filled  the  following  morning  by 
a  large  crowd  of  curious  people  anxious  to  see  the 
prisoner  and  hear  the  full  particulars  of  the  shooting. 
There  were  present,  also,  many  witnesses  against  the 
prisoner,  with  their  Sunday  clothes  in  evidence.  Many 
wore  their  war-stained  hats  proudly,  and  some  brought 
their  tattered  garments  carefully  wrapped  up  to  pre 
sent  as  testimony  against  the  prisoner. 

As  Bogardus  entered  the  courtroom  loud  mutter- 
ings  greeted  him  on  all  sides.  It  was  evident  that  the 
people  were  highly  wrought  up,  and  nothing  but 
"Bogy's"  blood  would  satisfy  them. 

Attorney  Wiggin  smiled  through  it  all.  After  the 
charge  had  been  read  and  the  enormity  of  the  crime 
had  been  expatiated  upon  by  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
Mr.  Wiggin  arose  for  the  defense. 

He  said  he  would  prove  that  his  client  was  not  a 
murderer;  that  his  pistol  was  loaded  with  blank  car 
tridges;  that  the  prisoner  was  a  practical  joker  and 
that  the  day  of  the  shooting  was  the  first  of  April.  It 
is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  Mr.  Wiggin  succeeded 
in  fully  establishing  his  client's  innocence  of  any  inten 
tional  crime,  and  he  was  immediately  released  from 
custody.  He  wanted  notoriety  and  he  got  lots  of  it 
and  to  spare.  The  heroes  who  had  displayed  the 
alleged  bullet-holes  were  heroes  no  longer,  and  those 
who  could  left  town  until  the  affair  was  forgotten  by 
their  friends. 


HERE   have  been   many  curi 
ous    and     interesting    stories 
told  about  Thomas  A.  Edison, 
but  the  following  has  never  before  ap 
peared  in  print: 

In  the  late  '705  Willis  J.  Cook, 
affectionately  remembered  by  all  old- 
timers  as  "Biff"  Cook,  arrived  in 
Omaha  direct  from  New  York  City.  "Biff"  was  a 
handsome  young  fellow,  easy  of  manner,  with  the 
jauntiest  of  airs,  and  fully  capable  of  being  equally  at 
home  in  the  presence  of  even  such  an  august  personage 
as  a  railroad  president  as  with  a  section  foreman. 
"Biff's"  apparel  was  always  well  fitting  and  of  the  best 
fabric,  but  his  wardrobe  was  never  too  bulky,  and  to 
fill  up  the  recesses  of  his  trunk  he  had  curios  of  all 
kinds  and  descriptions.  He  possessed  much  admira 
tion  for  Walter  P.  Philips,  and  every  article  from  that 
gentleman's  pen  found  its  way  into  "Biff's"  scrap- 
book.  One  of  his  most  interesting  relics  was  some 
hundred  or  more  sheets  of  "press"  copies  by  the 
"stars"  of  those  days,  and  it  may  be  imagined  that 
some  of  this  copy  could  hardly  be  reproduced  in  these 
days  of  "mill"  writing.  Occasionally  "Biff"  would 
show  these  sacred  pages  to  a  dear  friend,  and  together 
they  would  debate  as  to  the  relative  merits  of  the 
different  "copy."  There  were  representations  from 
all  over  the  country,  including  specimens  from  such 

99 


100  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

artists  as  Thos.  P.  Wheeler  and  John  L.  Cassidy,  of 
St.  Louis;  C.  H.  H.  Cottrell,  of  New  Orleans;  Ernest 
W.  Emery  and  M.  J.  Burke,  of  Salt  Lake ;  W.  A.  Man 
ning,  of  Cleveland ;  Thos.  H.  Berry  and  Frank  Medina, 
of  San  Francisco ;  Thomas  R.  Taltavall,  of  New  York ; 
James  C.  Belong,  of  Chicago,  and  many  other  bright 
satellites.  But  of  all  his  treasures  "Biff"  prized  most 
highly  a  half-dozen  diagrams  with  accompanying  nota 
tions  in  the  well-known  handwriting  of  Thomas  A. 
Edison.  He  told  us  the  history  of  these  drawings  one 
night  in  about  the  following  words : 

"It  was  in  '74  and  '75  that  Ned  Fullum,  Jim  Largay, 
Fred  Baldwin  and  myself  were  nightly  detailed  to 
report  at  Edison's  office,  where  we  put  in  three  to  five 
hours  'dotting  on  the  quadruplex.'  Of  course  it  was  a 
snap,  for  many  times  we  would  not  have  a  thing  to 
do,  for  Edison  would  be  engaged  in  working  out  some 
apparently  difficult  problem,  and  us  boys  would  sit 
around  and  tell  stories.  Edison  was  just  beginning  to 
make  himself  known  in  telegraphic  and  electrical 
circles,  and  one  evening  I  told  him  that  he  was  getting 
up  a  great  reputation  as  an  inventor;  and  I  observed 
that  a  paper  down  at  Sandusky,  O.,  had  recently 
printed  an  item,  alleged  to  be  humorous,  to  the  effect 
that  he  could  invent  anything  at  all,  even  to  a  machine 
which  if  merely  talked  into  would  bore  a  hole  in  the 
ground  deep  enough  for  a  well.  Edison  gave  a  little 
chuckle,  and  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  straightway  fell 
to  figuring  and  drawing  all  sorts  of  diagrams.  A  half 
hour  or  so  afterward  he  came  over  to  me  with  these 
very  same  drawings  in  his  hand  and  remarked :  'Well, 


DIGGING  WELLS  BY  TELEPHONE  101 

here  you  are.  Here  is  your  automatic  well-digger.'  Edi 
son  then  illustrated  his  diagrams,  saying:  'You  have 
here  a  transmitter,  similar  to  the  telephone.  By  speak 
ing  through  this  transmitter  the  vibrations  of  your  voice 
revolve  a  cogwheel  which  moves  into  another,  that  into 
another  ad  infinitum,  'all  gaining  momentum  and 
velocity  as  they  move  along.  At  the  end  of  numerous 
cogs  and  kinks  there  is  placed  a  gimlet  and  it  merely 
depends  upon  how  long  you  wag  your  jaw  to  deter 
mine  how  deep  the  well  will  be — but,  my  boy,  where 
would  be  its  commercial  value?'" 

Years  have  elapsed  since  then;  the  bright  spirit  of 
Willis  J.  Cook  has  passed  on  and  the"Wizard  of  Menlo 
Park"  has  solved  much  more  difficult  problems  than 
digging  wells  by  telephone. 


ENTERPRISE  IN  EMERGENCY 

IT  is  not  of  recent  years  only  that  the  great  dailies 
of  New  York  City  showed  unmistakable  enterprise 
in  endeavoring  to  serve  their  readers  with  the  very 
latest  news  and  from  any  clime  under  the  sun.  The 
correspondents  were  just  as  alert  and  keen  to  scoop 
their  rivals  30  years  ago,  and  hardships  were  not 
reckoned  in  the  premises  when  there  was  an  oppor 
tunity  to  get  ahead  of  a  competitor. 

It  was  in  the  year  1867  that  the  whole  country  was 
more  or  less  agog  with  excitement  regarding  the 
annexation  of  Alaska,  and  news  of  the  favorable  ter 
mination  of  that  commission  was  looked  forward  to 
with  much  interest.  The  New  York  Herald,  then 
under  the  management  of  the  elder  Bennett,  took  the 
lead  as  a  purveyor  of  news,  and  expense  cut  little 
figure  when  it  came  to  furnishing  its  readers  with  the 
latest  intelligence.  The  proprietors  of  the  other  big 
dailies  of  New  York  were  equally  ready,  but  hardly 
as  enterprising  as  Mr.  Bennett. 

The  American  commissioners  were  to  leave  San 
Francisco  on  the  old  side-wheeler  Sierra  Nevada  for 
Sitka,  Alaska,  where  they  were  to  meet  the  Russian 
commissioners  and  make  the  final  arrangements  for 
the  formal  session  of  the  vast  territory  of  Alaska. 
Some  20  or  more  representatives  of  the  press  accom 
panied  the  American  commissioners,  all  the  leading 
papers  of  the  country  and  some  foreign  journals  being 
among  the  representation.  They  were  the  brightest 
men  on  their  respective  staffs.  The  New  York 
Herald's  correspondent  was  Mr.  Timothy  O'Shaugh- 
nessy,  who  was  well  known  under  the  nom  de  plume 
of  "Dr.  Byron  Adonis."  He  was  a  tall,  well-built 
Irishman,  30  years  of  age,  possessed  of  indomitable 

103 


104  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

energy  and  always  ready  with  some  expedient  in  cases 
of  emergency. 

The  commissioners  of  the  two  great  nations  met  in 
Sitka  and  speedily  transacted  their  business;  and  the 
Sierra  Nevada  steamed  away  on  her  return  trip.  The 
first  telegraphic  station  en  route  was  Victoria,  V.  I., 
and  it  was  at  this  point  that  all  the  newspaper  corre 
spondents  hoped  to  file  their  specials;  and  as  business 
was  done  at  a  telegraph  office  in  about  the  same  form 
as  is  usually  in  vogue  at  the  present  time  in  a  barber 
shop,  "First  come,  first  served,"  they  were  all  deter 
mined  to  make  a  mighty  effort  to  be  the  first  served. 

A  short  distance  out  from  Sitka,  the  Sierra  Nevada 
broke  her  shaft  and  she  was  obliged  to  make  the  jour 
ney  with  one  paddle,  and  when  the  ship  reached 
Nanaimo  she  put  in  for  repairs.  This  place  is  40  miles 
from  Victoria  and  the  only  means  of  reaching  the  latter 
place  overland  was  through  a  trackless  forest.  "Byron 
Adonis"  sized  up  the  situation  in  an  instant  and  re 
solved  to  get  to  Victoria  some  way.  He  departed 
unnoticed,  and  after  a  most  perilous  and  thrilling 
experience,  he  arrived  at  Victoria,  hatless,  bootless  and 
with  his  clothes  torn  to  tatters,  as  the  result  of  his 
encounter  with  the  heavy  underbrush.  John  Hender 
son,  now  of  Portland,  Ore.,  was  the  manager  and  only 
operator  at  Victoria  at  this  time,  and  he  was  laid  up 
with  a  broken  limb.  "Byron  Adonis,"  as  he  rushed  in 
on  Henderson,  with  his  fiery  red  hair  standing  on  end, 
a  roll  of  manuscript  in  his  hand  and  with  a  "whoop-la" 
demanding  that  it  be  transmitted  immediately,  was  an 
apparition  indeed.  When  Henderson  recovered  from 


ENTERPRISE  IN  EMERGENCY  105 

his  surprise  he  informed  the  correspondent  that  the 
line  was  down.  Overwhelmed  with  chagrin  and  dis 
appointment,  "Byron"  asked  what  was  to  be  done 
next,  and  was  told  that  he  could  probably  get  some  of 
the  siwashes  to  row  him  over  to  the  mainland,  some 
20  miles  distant,  where  he  could  no  doubt  get  his 
matter  through. 

Without  further  parley  the  correspondent  rushed 
away,  and  speedily  struck  a  bargain  with  a  couple  of 
Indians  to  row  him  over  to  Swinomish,  Wash.,  where 
he  filed  his  specials  for  the  New  York  Herald,  which 
were  published  the  following  morning  in  that  paper 
and  telegraphed  back  to  the  Pacific  Coast  papers.  The 
special  was  full  and  comprehensive,  and  of  course  the 
score  or  more  of  other  papers  were  badly  scooped,  so 
they  did  not  file  any  of  their  matter  after  this,  as 
"Byron  Adonis"  had  done  it  up  brown.  This  was  a 
red-letter  day  in  O'Shaughnessy's  history.  He  returned 
to  Victoria,  where  he  celebrated  his  success  in  high 
style.  The  Herald  seemed  to  have  appreciated  their 
indefatigable  correspondent's  enterprise,  for  he  was 
rewarded  by  being  appointed  resident  correspondent 
for  that  journal  in  the  City  of  Mexico. 

Although  this  occurrence  took  place  more  than  30 
years  ago,  there  are  residents  of  the  staid  little  city  of 
Victoria  who  remember  and  speak  of  the  time  when 
red-haired  "Byron  Adonis"  scooped  all  his  contem 
poraries  by  his  exercise  of  "enterprise  in  emergency." 


THE  hero  of  this  sketch  became  an  operator  in 
1860  and  was  among  the  first  to  offer  his 
services  to  his  country  for  $125  per  month 
and  rations,  to  put  down  the  rebellion.  He  still  holds 
to  the  belief,  however,  that  his  letter  of  application 
which  cited  the  fact  that  he  did  not  indulge  in  any 
"spiritual"  liquors  was  the  prime  factor  in  his  being 
accepted  and  placed  under  General  Thomas  T.  Eckert's 
jurisdiction.  This  was  40  years  ago,  and  Fred  Loomis, 
the  bright  lad  of  that  period,  is  rapidly  growing  into 
the  sere  and  yellow  leaf. 

Fred's  experience  extends  beyond  the  confines  of 
the  operating-room,  for  he  has  held  many  responsible 
positions  with  the  different  railroad  companies.  At 
one  time  he  was  conductor  on  a  railroad  in  Nevada. 
The  road  had  once  been  very  prosperous  and  had  been 
a  valuable  piece  of  property,  but  the  decline  in  silver 
killed  it.  Fred  was  conductor  of  the  accommodation 
train  and  it  was  indeed  what  its  name  stated — an 
accommodation  train.  The  train  was  bound  north  one 
day  and  was  half  way  on  its  journey  over  a  stretch 
of  loo  miles,  when  a  lady  boarded  it  at  a  station  named 
Diamond  Springs.  She  had  ridden  ten  miles  or  so 

107 


ros 


TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


when  she  discovered  that  she  was  going  in  the  wrong 
direction.  Hastily  calling  the  conductor,  she  told  him 
of  her  mistake.  "Oh,  you  want  to  go  to  Eureka  instead 
of  Palisades,  do  you?  Well,  that  is  all  right.  I  will 


fix  it  for  you."  And  ringing  for  the  train  to  stop,  he 
directed  the  engineer  to  reverse  his  engine  and  start 
south  with  his  solitary  passenger. 

Some  time  afterward  Fred  left  Nevada  and  was 
offered  a  passenger  run  on  a  more  prosperous  Pacific 
road.  He  had  a  friend  in  the  person  of  the  president 
of  the  road  who  seemed  to  have  all  confidence  in  Fred's 


SOME  REMINISCENCES  109 

ability  to  run  any  kind  of  a  train.  It  was  different, 
however,  being  conductor  of  a  combination  freight, 
express  and  passenger,  with  a  little  dinkey  engine,  and 
a  great  modern  train  of  a  dozen  or  more  cars.  Fred 
was  all  right,  he  thought,  after  he  got  it  started,  but 
exactly  how  to  start  such  a  train  he  did  not  know.  The 
hour  for  departure  of  his  first  train  had  arrived.  The 
engine  had  whistled,  signifying  that  all  was  ready, 
but  Fred  was  in  a  quandary  how  to  start  the  ponder 
ous  mass.  He  solved  the  problem,  however,  when  he 
called  out  to  his  brakeman :  "I  say,  there,  brakie,  you 
give  the  engineer  the  'usual  sign'  to  go  ahead." 

Loomis  was  once  ticket  agent  for  a  Western  road. 
There  was  an  old  lady  who  traveled  a  good  deal, 
always  accompanied  by  a  little  boy  for  whom  she 
purchased  a  half-fare  ticket.  The  twain  made  the  trips 
quite  often,  and  Fred  became  well  acquainted  with  the 
old  lady,  but  the  boy  he  could  not  see  excepting  the 
top  of  his  head.  Reaching  out  of  his  ticket  window 
one  day  to  pat  the  small  boy  on  the  head,  he  acci 
dentally  let  his  fingers  rest  on  the  urchin's  chin  for  a 
moment,  and  then  quickly  ejaculated:  "Why,  little 
Jimmie,  you  are  badly  in  need  of  a  shave."  The  old 
lady  paid  full  fare  for  "Little  Jimmie"  thereafter. 


A  YOUTHFUL  mind  is  quick  to  grasp  impres 
sions,  good  or  bad,  and  flashy  and  trashy 
novels  in  the  hands  of  the  youth  go  a  long 
way  toward  cultivating  impressions  which,  once 
formed,  are  very  difficult  to  eradicate.  There  is  per 
haps  no  greater  reader  of  rosy-tinted  literature  than 
is  the  modern  telegraph  messenger,  and  it  very  fre 
quently  occurs  that  the  youngster's  idea  of  life  is 
gleaned  from  the  pages  of  his  favorite  author,  and  such 
heroes  as  "Snaky  Snodgrass"  and  "Cheyenne  Charlie" 
are  as  realistic  to  him  as  are  the  more  sedate  but 

reliable  stories  of  George 
Washington     and     An 
drew  Jackson. 
j/Jj  ,     ^v^^^i^^f^^          Some  years  ago  there 

[Si     ^iPfllFJ     »veVn    the     City    of 

Cleveland  a  boy  named 
Sim  Blossom,  who  work 
ed  in  the  capacity  of  mes 
senger  for  the  telegraph 
company.  Sim  was  an 
ardent  devourer  of  yel 
low-backed  literature, 
and  he  generally  spent 
all  his  "tips"  in  acquir- 


112  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

ing  a  library  of  his  beloved  authors,  and  every  spare 
moment  he  would  devote  to  the  perusal  of  these 
works.  After  a  careful  study  of  this  sort  of  fiction  for 
several  months,  Sim  could  see  how  he  could  improve 
on  the  methods  in  vogue  for  recapturing  the  stolen 
heiresses  from  the  doughty  redskins,  and  he  longed 
to  be  out  with  his  rifle  and  other  paraphernalia  of 
Indian  warfare  and  hunt  the  Comanche  in  his  den,  and 
the  blood-thirsty  Sioux  in  his  lair,  so  to  speak.  He 
was  particularly  anxious  to  appear  at  some  time  as  a 
hero  and  to  have  his  deeds  of  valor  "go  thundering 
down  the  ages."  Sim  at  various  times  had  imparted 
to  his  youthful  associates  his  plan,  which  was  to 
provide  himself  with  a  complete  armament  both  for 
the  defensive  and  offensive,  and  go  to  Ogallalla  or 
Beowawe,  where  he  thought  he  would  go  at  once  into 
the  business  of  reducing  the  Indian  population. 
Several  of  his  companions  expressed  a  desire  to  go  into 
business  with  him,  and  all  began  their  preparations  for 
this  long  journey. 

Sim  was  19  years  old,  tall  and  lank,  with  very  cross 
eyes,  which  gave  him  a  rather  villainous  appearance, 
but  he  was  far  from  being  a  desperado.  In  fact,  he 
had  an  unmistakable  belief  in  the  "bogie-man"  and 
other  such  bugaboos  of  childhood;  but  strong  in  the 
belief  that  his  mission  was  a  worthy  one  and  that  he 
would  be  crowned  with  glory  and  laurels,  he  departed 
quietly  one  evening  with  a  ticket  in  his  pocket,  the 
destination  of  which  was  Omaha.  His  companions 
backed  out  at  the  last  moment,  but  Sim  was  not  to  be 
daunted,  so  he  set  out  alone.  He  brought  with  him 
a  goodly  supply  of  his  favorite  books  to  study  en  route, 
and  his  accoutrements  were  numerous  and  varied.  He 
had  a  big  rifle  to  kill  big  Indians  and  two  smaller  side 
arms  with  which  to  dispose  of  the  squaws  and  pa- 


A  MODERN  DON  QUIXOTE 


113 


pooses.  He  brought  quite  an  assortment  of  knives 
with  him,  consisting  of  bowies,  Barlows  and  sundry 
razors,  evidently  expecting  to  do  business  with  some 
.,i  of  the  colored  population.  He 

JP  Ik  had    forgotten    nothing    that    he 

thought  might   render   him  very 

formidable  to  the  red  men  of  the 

plains. 

I    will    not    dwell 

upon  the   experiences 

and     vicissitudes     of 

our  hero  after  his  ar- 

rival     at 

Omaha.  He 

found      the 
__=^.  people  of 

that     thriv 

ing  city  just 

like     the 

denizens  of 

Euclid  ave 

nue    of    his 

own  city.  A  trifle  more  inde 
pendent  and  prosperous,  per 
haps,  but  just  as  peaceful  and 
order-loving.  He  was  made 
much  sport  of  by  the  loungers 
around  the  depot,  who  wished  to 
examine  his  "layout,"  and  in  the 
course  of  this  inspection  some 
unkind  frontiersman  appropria- 


"THE  BIGGEST  INJUN 
IN  OMAHA" 


SIM  IN 


114  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

ated  his  most  sacred  stock  in  trade,  his  favorite 
novels. 

Not  having  anything  to  refer  to,  he  was  entirely  at 
sea  as  to  what  to  do.  For  several  days  Sim  wandered 
around  Omaha  aimlessly.  He  had  been  convinced 
that  his  errand  was  a  foolish  one,  and  he  was  now 
anxious  to  return  home. 

Meek  and  hungry  he  finally  reached  home,  but  he 
never  went  to  visit  his  former  associates  at  the  tele 
graph  office. 

These  occurrences  took  place  many  years  ago  and 
more  wisdom  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  Sim  Blossom.  He 
has  not,  however,  overcome  his  love  for  gore,  for  he  is 
now  following  the  avocation  of  "peanut  butcher"  on 
one  of  the  "Big  Four"  trains. 


OYSTERS  CAUSE  WIRE  TROUBLE 

ON  the  Atlantic  Coast  and  throughout  the 
Middle  States,  when  there  is  any  trouble  with 
the  wires  it  is  generally  occasioned  by  the 
elements.  It  may  be  ice  and  sleet  in  the  winter,  and 
it  may  be  a  heavy  wind  or  rain  storm  during  the 
summer  months;  but  most  interruptions  to  the  wires 
are  due  to  some  such  causes,  and  the  lineman  does  not 
look  for  anything  out  of  the  usual  run  of  things  in 
trying  to  locate  a  break.  It  seems  that  the  conditions 
of  things  is  different  on  the  Pacific  Coast.  Imagine 
a  line  repairer  in  the  East  looking  for  wire  trouble 
with  a  feather  duster  in  hand  and  having  feather 
dusters  as  part  of  his  outfit  or  accoutrement.  It  is  not 
at  all  unusual,  however,  to  have  such  an  incident  occur 
in  the  southern  part  of  Oregon. 

Some  years  ago  the  wires  between  Roseburg,  Ore., 
and  the  California  line  had  not  been  working  well  for 
some  months  and  the  chief  operator  at  Portland  was 
nonplussed  to  determine  what  the  trouble  was.  Every 
repairer  that  he  had  sent  over  the  line  had  reported 
the  wires  free  from  obstruction,  but  for  several  hours 
in  the  morning  there  would  be  a  heavy  "ground," 
which  would  disappear  as  the  day  advanced,  only  to 
come  in  again  toward  evening.  The  chief  made  a 
personal  trip  over  the  line,  and  upon  close  inspection 
of  several  poles  discovered  that  they  were  covered  with 
a  thick  mass  of  cobwebs.  There  was  generally  a  heavy 
fog  in  the  morning  and  evening  and  the  thick  fog  on 
this  mass  of  cobwebs  formed  a  very  good  "ground." 

The  different  linemen  were  speedily  equipped  with 
feather  dusters  and  were  given  instructions  to  care- 

115 


116  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

fully  brush   away  the   cobwebs  from   each  pole,  and 
the  mysterious  trouble  disappeared. 

Some  linemen  would  be  apt  to  object  to  carrying 
with  them  the  paraphernalia  of  a  housemaid ;  but  even 
such  cases  of  wire  interruptions  are  not  so  ludicrous 
as  the  following,  which  recently  occurred  in  Portland : 

Superintendent  Thatcher,  of  the  Oregon  Telephone 
Company,  was  at  work  one  day  in  his  private  office 
when  a  young  Englishman  rushed  in  and  exclaimed 
excitedly:  "The  oysters  are  interfering  with  your 
wires."  "What  do  you  mean?"  said  Mr.  Thatcher. 
"Just  what  I  say,"  replied  the  man.  "The  oysters  are 
at  your  poles,  and  your  wires  will  soon  be  all  on  the 
ground."  This  was  an  entirely  new  experience  for  the 
superintendent,  so  he  proceeded  to  investigate.  On  his 
way  down  street  he  met  a  reporter  for  the  Oregonian 
in  search  of  an  item  and  he  acquainted  him  with  the 
singular  case  of  alleged  line  trouble.  The  reporter  in 
turn  communicated  the  fact  to  some  bystanders,  all  of 
whom  joined  the  procession  to  the  scene  of  the 
trouble.  Several  blocks  away  there  was  a  new  build 
ing  in  the  course  of  erection  and  the  Britisher  triumph 
antly  pointed  out  to  the  bewildered  telephone  superin 
tendent  the  spectacle  of  a  hoisting  derrick  elevating 
material  to  the  fourth  story  of  the  building,  and  ejacu 
lated:  "There,  see  the  'oisters  and  the  'oisting 
machine ;  they  will  surely  break  down  all  your  wires !" 
The  cause  of  all  this  great  commotion  was  not  the 
succulent  bivalve,  so  instead  of  engaging  a  French 
chefs  services,  Superintendent  Thatcher  sent  for  a 
lineman  to  act  in  an  official  capacity. 


THE  CARSON  CANNING  COMPANY 

THE  State  of  Nevada  is  not  remarkable  for  its 
.diversified   industries,   and   agriculture   exists 
there  only  as  the  wants  of  the  people  demand 
it.    Mining  is  the  chief  industry,  and  the  great  markets 
of  California  are  ransacked  to  furnish  food  and  raiment 
for  the  sister  state.     It  is  no  wonder  then  that  the 
following  advertisement  in  the  Carson  Appeal  occa 
sioned  a  little  surprise  in  the  minds  of  the  citizens  of 
that  beautiful  little  city : 


CARSON  CANNING  COMPANY. 

OFFICE: 

TELEGRAPH  CIGAR  STORE, 
CARSON,   NEVADA. 


The  location  of  the  office  of  this  new  company 
seemed  to  somewhat  solve  the  question,  for  the  pro 
prietor,  Jim  Farrell,  always  had  a  bright  eye  open  for 
any  possible  chance  of  capturing  the  nimble  dollar,  and 
he  was  ably  assisted  by  his  coadjutor,  Jack  Marshall. 
Stocks  were  booming,  and  the  people  of  Carson  merely 
gave  the  advertisement  a  passing  glance,  turning  their 
attention  to  the  more  engrossing  topic  of  the  rise  in  the 
mining  market.  The  card  continued  to  appear  in  the 
columns  of  the  Appeal  and  the  office  of  the  Telegraph 
Cigar  Store  received  daily,  by  mail,  catalogues,  price- 
lists,  etc.,  from  different  manufacturers  all  over  the 
country.  Some  of  these  tradesmen  had  lithographs 
to  offer,  some  had  new  brands  and  styles  of  tomato 
and  other  cans  to  sell,  but  all  wanted  to  do  business 
with  the  new  concern. 

117 


118  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

There  seemed,  however,  to  be  an  air  of  mystery 
surrounding  the  Carson  Canning  Company,  and 
neither  of  the  twain  who  comprised  the  company  was 
disposed  to  say  much  about  it.  Both  were  great  jokers, 
but  in  what  manner  they  proposed  to  perpetrate  their 
fun  was  difficult  to  determine.  However,  it  all  came 
out  one  day. 

The  San  Francisco  train  brought  with  it  one  morn 
ing  a  dapper  little  drummer  from  the  Bay  City.  He 
registered  at  the  Ormsby  Hotel,  where  he  inquired  for 
the  location  of  the  Carson  Canning  Company,  and  was 
directed  to  the  Telegraph  Cigar  Store.  Repairing 
there,  he  met  the  urbane  and  smiling  Jim  Farrell, 
whom  he  plied  with  numerous  questions.  He  stated 
that  he  represented  a  label  firm  in  San  Francisco,  who 
were  anxious  to  do  business  with  the  Carson  Canning 
Company,  and  he  wished  to  display  his  wares  and 
samples,  which  he  had  brought  with  him.  Jim  told 
him  there  was  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  board  of  directors 
of  the  company  that  evening  at  7  o'clock,  and  if  he 
wished  he  might  attend  it  and  canvass  the  matter  with 
the  board.  The  drummer  promised  to  be  on  hand 
promptly,  and  Farrell  lost  no  time  in  sending  for  Jack 
Marshall,  and  the  pair  had  a  secret  conference,  the 
result  of  which  was  that  the  services  of  half  a  dozen 
Indian  boys  were  secured.  They  were  to  be  on  hand 
at  7  o'clock  that  evening  at  Farrell's  office,  each  boy 
bringing  along  two  Indian  dogs,  and  the  canning 
company  would  do  the  rest.  A  large  number  of  oyster 
cans,  fruit  cans,  dishpans  and  other  varied  tinware  in 
a  more  or  less  dilapidated  state  were  secured  and 
placed  in  the  back  room  of  the  office,  ready  for 
business. 


THE  CARSON  CANNING  COMPANY  119 

Promptly  at  7  o'clock  the  drummer  appeared  at 
Farrell's  office  to  meet  the  board  of  directors.  He  was 
in  an  especially  good  humor  in  anticipation  of  a  hand 
some  order  from  the  canning  company.  He  treated  the 
loungers-about  very  liberally,  and  then  requested  to 
be  introduced  to  the  board  of  directors.  "I  will  now 
introduce  you  to  the  whole  plant,"  said  Jack  Marshall, 
and  he  disappeared  into  the  next  room,  from  whence 
he  soon  emerged,  accompanied  by  a  shower  of  dogs 
waist-deep,  each  canine  having  attached  to  his  caudal 
appendage  an  article  in  the  tin-can  line.  At  a  signal 
from  Jack,  there  was  a  temporary  dispersion  of  the 
board  of  directors,  who  made  way  for  the  canines,  who 
disappeared  to  view  down  the  street  in  clouds  of  cans 
and  dust.  "This  is  the  Carson  Canning  Company,  and 
you  see  we  are  plentifully  supplied  with  labels,  and 
will  not  require  anything  in  your  line  at  present,"  said 
Jack  to  the  very  much  astonished  drummer.  The  latter 
took  the  joke  very  good-naturedly,  and  his  firm,  too, 
appreciated  it.  The  columns  of  the  Appeal,  however, 
no  longer  contain  the  card  of  the  Carson  Canning 
Company.  Its  mission  seems  to  have  been  fulfilled. 


JIM  BRANAGIN  was  the  night 
operator  at   Hamburg.     There 
was  nothing  remarkable  in  this 
fact,  as  Hamburg  had  been  the  start 
ing   point   for   many   an   embryotic 
"Bert  Ayres";  and  neither  can  it  be 
stated  positively  that  Hamburg  de 
rived     its     name     from     being    the 
nursery  of  this  kind  of  talent. 

Like  all  up-to-date  night  operators,  Jim  was  the 
acknowledged  leader  in  his  little  community,  and 
quite  curious  were  some  of  his  assertions. 

One  evening  he  related  to  his  guileless  listeners, 
who  flocked  around  the  depot  after  train  time,  how  he 
came  to  be  named  Branagin.  "You  see,"  said  Jim, 
"my  forefathers  were  born  in  Ireland,  in  the  County 
Tipperary;  and  were  for  many  generations  millers  by 
trade.  The  farmers  would  bring  in  their  wheat  to  be 
ground  and  they  always  received  honest  and  fair  treat 
ment;  and  being  known  as  honest  and  upright,  they 
always  prospered.  One  day,  however,  misfortune 
came.  A  neighboring  farmer  brought  a  load  of  wheat 
to  be  ground  into  flour.  When  he  called  the  following 
day  to  get  his  grist,  he  was  surprised  and  nonplussed 
to  find  that  he  had  a  quantity  of  bran,  but  not  a  par 
ticle  of  flour  to  show  for  his  wheat.  He  was  assured 


121 


122  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

that  this  was  the  result  of  the  grind  just  as  they  re 
ceived  it ;  so  he  went  away,  but  not  altogether  satisfied. 
Shortly  afterward  this  same  farmer  brought  another 
load  of  wheat  to  the  mill  to  be  ground.  His  conster 
nation  and  disappointment  were  great  when  he  dis 
covered  that  the  result  was  exactly  the  same  as  before. 
'What/  he  exclaimed,  'bran  agin,  bran  agin/  And 
the  name  of  Branagin  was  given  to  the  world  forever- 
more." 

It  is  not  generally  known  under  what  flag  Jim  is 
now  traveling,  but  the  night  operators  at  Hamburg 
may  hear  this  story  related  by  the  loungers  there  to 
the  present  day. 


ARTHER  back  than  even  the  present 
old-timer  can  remember,  the  route 
between  Chicago  and  San  Francisco 
had  been  repeatedly  traversed  by  Aaron  B. 
Hillicker;  his  fine,  artistic  penmanship,  his 
rapid  sending,  his  merry  laugh  and  jokes 
were  well  known.  Hillicker  was  a  man  of 
good  education  and  breeding,  possessing 
rare  musical  talent,  and  considerable  ability 
as  a  comedian.  This  latter  qualification  he 
brought  into  use  occasionally  when  posi 
tions  were  scarce  in  the  telegraph  service.  Aaron  was 
a  great  romancer,  and  he  was  prone  to  delude  the 
"tenderfoot"  who  had  aspirations  to  travel  with  the 
setting  sun. 

He  related  a  story  one  evening  that  vied  in  blood 
curdling  and  romantic  finale  with  the  deeds  of  the 
renowned  "Leather-Stocking."  He  stated  that  prior 
to  the  completion  of  the  Union  Pacific  railroad,  he 
was  night  operator  at  North  Platte,  Nebraska.  The 
Indians  were  very  hostile,  and  their  particular  animos 
ity  seemed  to  be  directed  against  the  men  of  the  tele 
graph.  One  night  he  was  startled  by  a  call  from  the 
operator  at  Julesburg,  the  nearest  station  west,  who 
told  him  to  run  for  his  life,  as  the  Indians,  fifty  in 
number,  and  mounted,  were  traveling  in  his  direc 
tion  and  would  reach  him  by  daylight.  Hillicker 

123 


124  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

waited  till  the  break  of  day,  when  looking  towards 
the  west,  he  observed  a  troop  of  mounted  men  rapidly 
approaching  the  station,  and  decided  that  they  must 
be  the  looked-for  Indians.  Hastily  descending  into 
a  cellar,  he  went  through  a  subterranean  passage  till 
he  reached  the  Platte  river.  Here  his  canoe  was  in 
hiding,  and  into  it  he  embarked,  pushing  it  out  into 
the  stream,  where  the  current  of  the  river  speedily 
distanced  the  Indians,  and  brought  him  to  a  haven  of 
safety. 

The  story  was  greatly  embellished,  and  it  made  an 
impression  upon  one  of  his  hearers,  who  undertook  to 
verify  it,  and  a  few  days  after  visited  the  prosperous 
little  city  of  North  Platte,  where  he  inspected  the 
Platte  river  and  its  "current."  He  returned,  convinced 
that  the  railroad  agent's  description  of  the  river — , 
"It  is  a  thousand  miles  long  and  two  inches  deep" — 
fully  described  it,  and  he  was  further  of  the  opinion 
that  Aaron  had  been  romancing  again. 

Hillicker  told  a  story  shortly  afterward,  which  was 
intensely  interesting.  "As  I  was  going  from  Omaha 
to  Salt  Lake  City,  I  stopped  off  en  route  to  visit  my 
friend,  'Nip'  Jones,  at  Cheyenne.  'Nip'  was  a  great 
hunter  and  an  all-round  sportsman,  and  about  the 
first  thing  he  asked  me  to  do  was  to  go  hunting  with 
him.  We  provided  ourselves  plentifully  with  eatables 
and  started  out,  meeting  with  fair  success.  We 
camped  for  lunch  near  a  stream,  along  the  banks  of 
which  grew  some  cottonwood  trees,  and  there  we 
spread  our  repast.  We  did  full  justice  to  the  meal, 
but  there  were  a  couple  of  ham  sandwiches  left  over, 
which,  not  caring  to  pack  with  us,  we  threw  away. 
A  year  later  I  returned  from  Salt  Lake  City,  and 
again  paid  my  friend  'Nip'  a  visit.  Once  more  we 
had  a  hunt,  going  over  the  same  grounds  as  before. 
We  stopped  for  luncheon  at  the  identical  spot  as  of 


COLONEL  DICKEY'S  PAPER  WEIGHT  125 

yore;  and,  lo  and  behold!  there  we  found  the  sand 
wiches  we  had  left  on  our  previous  expedition,  but 
they  were  as  hard  as  a  stone  and  completely  petrified. 
They  looked  just  as  natural  as  when  we  ate  their 
comrades  a  year  ago,  and  were  very  inviting-looking 
to  a  hungry  person.  I  brought  them  to  town  with 
me  and  gave  one  to  Manager  Snyder,  of  Cheyenne ; 
and  the  other  is  used  as  a  paper  weight  down  at 
Colonel  J.  J.  Dickey's  office.  Come  down  and  I  will 
show  it  to  you."  But  his  tenderfoot  friend  did  not 
accept  the  invitation — he  had  been  to  North  Platte. 

It  was  somewhere  in  the  '6os  that  Hillicker  was 
working  in  the  San  Francisco  office,  when  he  was 
offered  an  engagement  at  the  Bella  Union  theater, 
then  a  reputable  place  of  amusement.  The  engage 
ment  was  quite  successful,  but  Aaron  was  a  living 
example  of  that  old  saying:  "The  fool  and  his  money 
soon  part,"  and  it  was  but  a  short  time  after  the 
theater  closed  for  the  season  that  he  found  himself 
without  position  or  money.  He  had,  however,  no 
misgivings,  and  started  out  to  find  his  opportunity. 
It  came  in  a  peculiar  manner.  It  was  Hearing  the 
Christmas  holidays,  and  the  streets  of  San  Francisco 
teemed  with  people  in  holiday  attire.  Aaron's  atten 
tion  had  been  called  to  a  large  quantity  of  false  hair, 
done  up  into  whiskers,  exposed  for  sale  in  one  of  the 
bazaars,  and  he  found  that  he  had  just  enough  money 
to  purchase  the  entire  lot.  He  took  the  mass  to  his 
lodgings,  and,  with  the  dexterity  known  to  the  pro 
fession,  he  speedily  converted  the  hair  into  false  mus 
taches,  and  then  started  out  to  dispose  of  his  wares. 
Selecting  the  corner  of  Pine  and  Montgomery  streets 
as  a  location,  he  proceeded  to  business.  Gazing  at  the 
passing  crowds  in  an  unutterably  comical  way,  he 
would  quickly  clap  some  hair  on  his  smooth  upper 
lip,  and  changing  his  expression  from  that  of  a  very 


126 


TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


pleasant-looking  young  man  into  a  rakish,  piratical- 
appearing  fellow,  he  would  startle  the  lookers-on  by 
the  ejaculation:  "Well,  they're  whiskers !  Get  a  mus 
tache.  If  you  can't  raise  'em  you  can  buy  'em ;  if  you 
can't  wear  'em,  take  'em  home  'nd  let  little  Willie 

wear  'em.    Hang  'em  on  the 
Christmas  tree!" 

Then,  with  the  most  com 
ical  expression  imaginable, 
he  would  pull  his  chin  and 
conclude  his  speech  with  the 
remark:  "If  you  can't  go 
coffee  you  can  goatee." 

Hillicker  cleared  $200  from 
this  little  speculation,  all  the 
stock  in  trade  he  possessed 
being  some  coarse  hair  and 
his  comical  gestures,  to 
gether  with  his  little  speech 
and  facial  expression. 

Probably  one  of  the  great 
est  pieces  of  Hillicker's  ro 
mancing  was  the  following, 
which  was  told  by  himself: 
"I  was  working  at  Cornu 
copia,  a  mining  town  in  Ne 
vada,  in  its  palmy  days,  where  I  got  quite  interested 
in  the  question  of  quick  transit,  and  after  several 
weeks  of  hard  study,  I  thought  I  had  solved  the  prob 
lem  which  would  make  speedy  locomotion  perfectly 
safe,  easy  and  comfortable.  I  unfolded  my  plans  to  a 
newspaper  man  who  undertook  to  assist  me  in  the 
new  enterprise.  Money  was  plenty,  and  we  readily 
formed  a  company,  with  the  capital  stock  placed  at 
$1,000,000.  Much  secrecy  was  attached  to  our  move 
ments,  for  the  idea  was  quite  new  and  had  never 


COLONEL  DICKEY'S  PAPER  WEIGHT  127 

been  copyrighted.  I  do  not  mind  telling  about  it 
now,  though.  The  apparatus  was  in  the  shape  of  a 
balloon,  with  the  regulation  car  attached  to  it,  in 
which  I  placed  an  electrical  appliance  which  was 
destined  to  revolutionize  traveling.  The  balloon  was 
to  be  filled  with  gas,  and  was  to  reach  a  height  of  at 
least  20,000  feet,  high  enough  to  clear  the  highest 
mountains.  After  this  altitude  had  been  reached  it 
was  proposed  to  turn  on  the  electro-magnetic  current, 
which  would  have  the  instantaneous  effect  of  casting 
off  the  earth's  attraction  and  gravitation,  rendering 
it  for  the  time  being  a  planet  by  itself.  The  earth 
travels  from  west  to  east,  and  all  it  was  necessary  to 
do  was  to  compute  time  accurately,  and  when  you 
figured  out  that  your  destination  had  'rolled  around' 
to  you,  merely  turn  on  the  current  and  again  become 
a  part  and  parcel  of  the  earth.  Of  course,  it  was  very 
essential  that  you  compute  your  latitude  correctly,  for 
otherwise  you  might  strike  Cape  Nome  when  you 
were  really  wanting  to  travel  to  San  Francisco.  I 
figured  that  it  would  take  about  21  hours  to  land  us 
from  Cornucopia  to  New  York  City,  for  we  would 
have  almost  the  entire  globe  to  review  while  we  were 
resting  in  the  mid-heavens,  but  to  go  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific  ocean  it  would  require  less  than  four 
hours  to  make  the  trip.  This  was  indeed  quick  transit, 
and  the  way  that  I  worked  the  problem  out  I  could 
see  that  it  was  very  feasible. 

"A  sudden  close-down  of  the  Grand  Prize  mine, 
and  the  insolvency  of  my  principal  backer,  temporarily 
disarranged  my  plans,  but  the  idea  will  yet  be  con 
summated,  and  the  question  of  speedy  traveling  will 
have  been  solved.  Just  think !  the  New  York  morning 
papers  will  be  read  in  San  Francisco  the  same  morning 
they  are  issued  in  New  York  City,  beating  even  the 
telegraph.  The  only  thing  I  am  sorry  for  in  my  inven- 


128  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

tion  is  that  it  gives  the  East  the  best  of  it  in  the  race, 
but  I  am  working  on  a  device  to  equalize  even  that, 
and  when  it  is  completed  I  will  give  my  secret  to  the 
world." 


It  has  been  a  long  time  since  the  writer  has  heard 
of  Aaron  B.  Hillicker,  but  it  is  very  probable  that 
he  is  still  living  not  far  from  the  shadows  of  the 
Wahsatch  Mountains.  A  copy  of  the  Salt  Lake  Tri- 


COLONEL  DICKEY'S  PAPER  WEIGHT  129 

bune  recently  printed  the  following  item,  and  it  is 
easy  to  tell  that  our  friend  Aaron  was  the  hero: 

"Last  night  Patrolman  Smith  arrested  a  telegraph 
operator  who  was  en  route  home.  It  was  a  very 
beautiful,  moonlight,  starlight  night,  but  the  operator 
was  proceeding  homewards  with  his  umbrella  up,  and 
it  was  for  this  offense  that  he  was  taken  by  Policeman 
Smith,  who  apparently  imagined  that  such  conduct 
was  a  penitentiary  offense.  The  operator  was  not  at 
all  disconcerted,  and  in  reply  to  the  chiefs  question 
as  to  what  he  was  doing  with  his  umbrella  up,  very 
mildly  replied:  'Why,  you  durned  goose,  you  don't 
suppose  I  want  the  moon  to  shine  on  me,  do  you  ?' " 


THE  COWBOY  DISPATCHER 

IN  the  broad  expanse  of  our  whole  country  there 
is  no  more  varied  scenery  and  such  kaleidoscopic 
panoramas  of  mountain  and  valley  as  one  will  see 
by  journeying  from  Portland  to  San  Francisco  via  the 
overland  route.  The  beautiful  Willamette  Valley  is 
traversed;  the  wooded  Callapooia  Mountains  are 
crossed;  the  picturesque  Rogue  River  Valley,  with 
its  lovely  streams  and  snowclad  peaks,  is  passed 
through ;  the  Valley  of  the  Shasta,  the  grandest  of 
them  all,  is  reached ;  and  finally  we  arrive  at  the  head 
waters  of  the  Sacramento  river,  when  we  are  fairly  in 
California.  This  is  a  favorite  ride  with  the  annual 
tourist,  who  greatly  appreciates  it;  but  some  people 
are  never  content,  or  rather  they  grow  blase  by  having 
too  much  of  a  good  thing. 

Gus  Rosenspitz,  a  commercial  drummer,  in  follow 
ing  his  line  of  business,  often  traveled  over  this  route. 
He,  however,  could  see  nothing  in  the  beauties  of 
nature,  and  all  of  the  delights  of  the  climate  were  lost 
on  him.  Gus  was  a  practical  joker,  and  his  chief 
source  of  pleasure  during  his  travels  was  to  board  the 
rear  car,  and,  just  as  the  train  was  pulling  out  of  a 
station  and  was  well  under  way,  to  accost  the  people 
on  the  platform  in  a  loud  and  rude  manner  with  ex 
clamations  like  the  following:  "Yust  see  that  country 
shake !  Dot  man  there  dot  is  wearing  his  grand 
father's  hat."  Or,  "Hello,  you  fellow  there  with  your 
pants  in  your  boots;  when  did  you  get  out  of  the 
penitentiary?"  Or  even,  "You  there!  I  know  you; 
you  yust  come  out  of  the  workhouse  in  Sacramento." 
No  one  was  exempt  from  Gus's  tirade  once  he  got 
started,  and  his  boorish  conduct  was  distasteful  alike 
to  passengers  and  employes.  Gus  was  very  careful 

131 


132  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

never  to  start  his  shouting  until  he  was  sure  that  he 
was  perfectly  safe.  But  one  day  he  caught  a  Tartar. 

Jack  Hamlin  was  a  dispatcher  for  the  Southern 
Pacific  road,  and,  being  fond  of  hunting  and  fishing, 
he  determined  to  spend  his  summer  vacation  in  the 
Shasta  Valley ;  so  it  occurred  that  one  very  warm  day 
in  July  found  him  at  the  desolate  little  station  known 
on  the  map  as  "Hornbrook."  He  had  come  in  from 
his  fishing  grounds  to  post  a  letter  on  the  afternoon 
California  express  train.  Jack  was  attired  in  a  neat 
buckskin  suit,  affecting  the  true  cowboy  style.  A 
rather  rakish-looking  hat  adorned  his  curly  head,  and 
a  Colt's  revolver,  stuck  in  a  cartridge  belt,  made  him 
appear  a  typical  man  of  the  mountain.  Jack  was  a 
handsome  fellow,  full  of  courage,  and  would  not  brook 
an  insult  from  any  one. 

It  was  on  this  day  that  Gus  Rosenspitz  was  mak 
ing  his  usual  semi-monthly  trip  to  San  Francisco,  and 
he  was  probably  a  little  more  than  ordinarily  hilarious. 
Station  after  station  that  he  had  passed  during  the 
day  had  witnessed  his  tirade,  and  when  he  beheld 
Jack  Hamlin  standing  alone  at  Hornbrook,  he  was 
impatient  to  have  the  train  start  so  that  he  might 
roast  the  "cowboy."  As  the  train  pulled  out,  Gus  gave 
a  yell  to  attract  Jack's  attention,  and  then  shouted: 
"Oh,  see  the  cowpoy!  Say,  you  ain't  a  cowpoy!  I 
know  you,  and  you  are  a  horsethief !  You  yust  escaped 
from  San  Quentin !"  These  were  a  few  of  the  epithets 
that  Hamlin  heard.  He  could  not  understand  it  at 
first,  but  it  dawned  on  him  that  he  was  being  insulted, 
and  his  hand  sought  his  hip  pocket;  but  Gus,  seeing 
the  move,  dodged  inside  the  door,  where,  with  still 
ruder  grimaces  and  shouting,  he  urged  the  "cowboy" 
to  shoot.  A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  inspire  Jack, 
for  he  started  on  a  run  in  pursuit  of  the  train,  which 
was  now  going  at  a  lively  speed.  This  action  pro- 


THE  COWBOY  DISPATCHER  138 

voked  the  most  uproarious  laughter  from  the  joker, 
who  now  cried  out :  "See  that  cowpoy  trying  to  catch 
the  train  that  goes  to  San  Franceesco !"  Jack  kept  after 


the  train,  which  presently  whistled  for  "down  brakes." 
A  brakeman  appeared  on  the  rear  end,  and  the  now 
anxious  Gus  asked:  "Vot  is  the  matter?"  He  was 
told  that  the  train  was  about  to  back  into  a  siding  to 
allow  the  northbound  train  to  pass.  Gus  involuntarily 


134  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

exclaimed:  "Und  the  cowpoy  is  coming!"  Negotia 
tions  were  made  in  vain,  with  the  several  porters  and 
train  hands,  to  hide  him,  pending  the  arrival  and  de 
parture  of  the  Northern  train,  and  finally  Gus  took 
refuge  in  the  undesirable  portion  of  the  train  known 
as  the  "blind  baggage,"  where  he  remained  till  after 
the  train  had  started  again  on  its  Southern  journey, 
when  he  left  it,  coming  into  the  smoker, 
where  he  almost  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  "cowboy." 
Jack  was  serene  and  placid  as  his  right  hand  played 
carelessly  with  his  revolver.  Gus  was  speechless  with 
fright,  and  tried  to  mumble  out  an  apology,  but  the 
words  came  slowly  and  incoherently.  "Don't  be  mad, 
Mr.  Cowpoy!"  he  ejaculated;  "dees  vas  one  of  my 
leetle  shokes."  Gathering  a  little  courage  from  Jack's 
smiling  face,  he  continue4 :  "You  see,  I  travel  so  much 
und  I  get  very  tired  und  I  likes  to  have  some  fun. 
Dees  vas  yust  von  of  my  leetle  shokes,  und  I  didn't 
mean  anytings  py  it."  He  further  protested  that  he 
had  never  seen  the  "cowboy"  in  San  Quentin  or  any 
other  place,  and  his  apologies  were  heartrendingly 
painful.  Jack  musingly  said:  "Oh,  it  was  only  a 
'shoke/  was  it?  Well,  I  am  glad  of  that,  for  if  I 
thought  that  you  meant  it,  I  would  have  to  kill  you," 
and  he  playfully  toyed  with  his  gun.  Again  and  again 
Gus  denied  that  he  had  intended  an  insult,  and  de 
clared  over  and  over  that  it  was  "yust  a  leetle  shoke." 
After  inquiring  his  name  and  business,  and  listen 
ing  to  further  protestations  from  the  very  much  fright 
ened  Rosenspitz,  Jack  remarked :  "Well,  now  let's  see ! 
The  fare  from  Hornbrook  to  Sisson's  is  $3.00;  return 
trip  is  the  same ;  hotel  expenses ;  laceration  of  feelings 
— say,  altogether  $20.00.  Your  'leetle  shoke'  will  cost 
you  just  $20.00."  He  glanced  menacingly  at  his  cart- 


THE  COWBOY  DISPATCHER 


135 


ridge  belt,  and   Gus  lost   no  time  in  producing  the 
gold  piece. 

"Now,  come  with  me,"  said  Jack,  and  leading  the 
way  they  started  back  to  the  Pullman.  In  passing 
through  the  tourist  car  Jack  noticed  a  poorly  attired 
woman  with  a  young  babe.  He  asked  the  porter  if 


he  knew  whether  she  was  in  poor  circumstances.  That 
functionary  replied :  "Yes,  Boss,  she  am  very  poor.  She 
has  not  eaten  a  bite  since  we  left  Portland."  Cour 
teously  approaching  the  lady,  Jack  gracefully  lifted  his 
hat  and  said:  "I  have  just  found  a  twenty-dollar  gold 
piece  a-rolling  up  hill,  and  I  have  no  use  for  it.  Will 
you  allow  me  to  present  it  to  you?"  The  offer  was 


136  TALES  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

thankfully  accepted,  and  the  money  was  deposited  in 
the  poor  woman's  hand,  much  to  Gus's  chagrin.  Ar 
riving  at  the  Pullman  car,  Rosenspitz  was  compelled 
to  apologize  to  the  passengers  for  his  boorish  behavior, 
promising  never  again  to  indulge  in  such  unseemly 
conduct. 

The  overland  train  still  makes  its  daily  trips  be 
tween  Portland  and  San  Francisco,  and  Mr.  Gus  Ros 
enspitz  makes  his  regular  semi-occasional  pilgrimages 
over  the  road,  but  his  familiar  face  and  figure  are 
never  seen  any  more  on  the  back  platform  of  the 
Pullman  sleeper.  His  lesson  was  salutary  and  com 
plete. 


&ong  of  tf)e  Batstes. 


SDid  you  eber  scr  a 

a  UttU  plloto  e  pt  , 
tie  sunbeams  fining  tjotontoarti 
Keflecttfc  from  tie 


2Dat0ie0  0fjoul&  teaci  us  Itssons 
flDt  patience  togici  brings 
flD£  lobe  toiucf)  brings  us  Ugfit 
tafees  atoa^  out  ntgfit. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50m-8,'69(N831s8)458-A-31/5 


JPAMPHLET  BINDER 

ZZ^T  Syracuse) 
=  Stockton, 


N9  679551 


Hayes,   J.I'/. 

Tales  of  the  Sierras 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


PS3515 
A9419 
T3 
1905 


